


Salt of the Earth

by tikistitch



Category: Supernatural, Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a semi owned by Niveus Pharmaceuticals jackknifes on the New Jersey turnpike, the plans of both heaven and hell are thrown into disarray as North America is quickly overrun by bloodthirsty zombies.  Sam and Dean Winchester are heading out to Harvelle's to have a nice cold beer and wait for the Croatoan thing to all blow over when they run into a homeless dude who claims to be an angel of the Lord.  Meanwhile, the Roadhouse has been commandeered by a group of angst-ridden survivors who are not keen on sharing their sanctuary with a couple of aspiring demon hunters and their weird new friend.  But the team must unite to face an older, more malevolent threat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to zsomeone for the beta. Amazing art pieces by forhimxx.
> 
> Written for the Supernatural Crossover Big Bang 2013.

 

Inias burst into the room, breathing heavily. Since he was an angel he technically didn’t need to breathe at all, so this was remarkable.

“The Croatoan virus is loose! It’s chaos down there.”

Uriel blinked up from the table. He was trying to draw to an inside straight, and found any interruptions to be highly annoying. “What was that?” he grumbled, voice rumbling from somewhere deep inside his soulless being.

“The Croatoan virus!” huffed Inias, regarding his older brothers with no small amount of dismay. “You know. Lucifer’s plan to disrupt humanity and bring on the apocalypse by means of a deadly biological agent?”

“He’s not really listening, dear,” sighed Balthazar, fluttering a dismissive hand. “He’s trying to draw to an inside straight.”

Uriel grumbled, a feral growl low in his throat. It was probably pointless that beings who could so easily read each other’s minds play poker, but angels were stubborn things, and it was simply difficult to talk them out of it. “Shut up, Balthazar. And it’s none of our business, Inias. It’s all in God’s plan-“

“He be praised,” muttered Balthazar.

“….Yadda yadda yadda.”

Inias gazed at his card-playing brethren with rising agitation. What sin had he committed to be assigned to the laziest garrison on earth? “But what about Castiel?”

“What about him?” grumbled Uriel, tossing his terminally sucky hand down on the table and grabbing some cocktail peanuts. 

“Shouldn’t we recall him?”

Uriel and Balthazar shook their heads and rolled their eyes, Uriel popping up a peanut and catching it deftly in his mouth.

“Inias, dearheart, don't worry that pretty little head. He’ll be fine,” said Balthazar, sipping his cosmopolitan. “Besides, believe me, you don’t want to go down to earth whilst the walking dead are on the loose. It’s just so … _messy_.”

“But what about the apocalypse? Won’t Brother Castiel get caught up in it?”

“Above my pay grade,” grunted Uriel. “Take my advice, Inias. Leave Castiel to his mud monkeys. He's always had a soft spot for those walking mistakes.” He eyed the young angel. “And that's an _order_ , in case it wasn't clear.”

“If I can't interfere … what can I do?” asked Inias.

“Go fetch us some fresh drinkies, dear,” hushed Balthazar, holding up an empty glass.

 

Castiel awoke, his head pounding. He was lying on the back seat of some kind of motor vehicle. He pulled himself up by gripping the back of the front bench seat, dislodging the trench coat that had been tucked over him as a kind of improvised blanket.

“What – what happened to me?” 

“Dean, your crazy homeless dude is awake,” said the incredibly large human occupying the passenger seat.

“Oh, hey, how you feelin', buddy?” asked the driver, another human, who was evidently named Dean.

“Dean Winchester,” muttered Castiel. His thoughts slowly resolved into something like clarity. “You are Sam and Dean Winchester.”

“Hey, very good!” said Dean. “Let’s try some others. Do you know what year it is?”

“What?” asked Sam.

“C’mon, Sammy, this is what they do on _Dr. Sexy_ when a dude gets hit on the head.”

“But he didn’t get hit on the head,” reasoned Sam, brushing back his too-long hair in agitation, partly over their guest but also partly over his brother's intractable fannish nature.

“C’mon dude,” urged Dean. “The year?”

“By human reckoning?” asked Castiel, which rated a rather nervous exchange of glances between Sam and Dean.

“Uh, unless you can come up with some other way, sure,” said Dean.

“I think it is the latter part of the twentieth century?”

Sam chuckled, but Dean said, “Hey, close enough. And who’s president?”

“Do you mean president of the United States?” asked Castiel, which produced another trade of Winchester glances.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know. Richard Nixon? I really don’t pay that much attention.”

Sam crossed his rangy arms in an unbearably smug manner. “Okay, Dean, so your homeless dude-“

“Why is he _my_ homeless dude?”

“-Is either a time traveler who got the dial set wrong on the DeLorean, or a nutbar.”

Castiel rubbed his forehead. Since he had never occupied a human vessel before, he had no experience with a headache, but it totally sucked. “Who is the Lori Anne? I am not familiar with her. And I do not require a nut bar as I do not eat. Can one of you tell me what happened and how I came to be seated in the back of your vehicle? My recent memory appears to have some gaps.”

Dean nodded. “All I know is, you somehow showed up in our motel room in the middle of a power outage. You started raving about how your name was Casserole or something-“

“Castiel,” supplied Sam.

“ _Castiel_ , and you claimed you were an angel of the Lord, on a mission from God. Hey, just like the Jake and Elwood! And then you started foaming at the mouth, and went into some kind of seizure. It was actually sorta cool.”

“And Dean insisted we take you along,” Sam added darkly, eyes blazing with the fires of sibling rivalry.

“Well we couldn’t very well leave the little guy to be eaten by zombies! That’s just rude.”

Sam did what he could to stretch out his long frame in the confined space of his seat and began ticking off his brother’s numerous transgressions on his fingers. “Dean, first off, he broke into our room, second he’s probably insane, and last he must be six feet tall. _That’s not little._ ”

“Look, Cas,” said Dean, in his best patronizing voice. “Did you maybe run away from some place? Maybe we can help you out if you can get it together and remember.”

Castiel was an emotionless creature, yet at that moment he could have wept with frustration. “I am an angel of the Lord. I am here on a mission from God.” 

“Well, that worked,” Sam told his brother. “Good job.”

“Look, why don’t you hang with us for a while? Things got too hot with the zombies back there, so we’re heading out to this place we know, the Roadhouse, to sit things out.”

Castiel gasped and tossed his coat aside. “Zombies? The Croatoan virus has been released?” He felt something he read as panic start to arise in his vessel.

“Wasn’t Croatoan related to that lost colony in Roanoke?” asked Sam, who, when he wasn't being insufferable, was something of a history buff.

Dean's light eyes flicked up to the rear-view. “People say the outbreak was related to a truck crash up on the Jersey turnpike. Some drug company that was supposedly manufacturing a bioweapon.”

“Yes, Niveus Pharmaceuticals,” said Castiel.

“I think that was the name, yeah,” said Dean. 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen for several years. I need to return to my garrison and see what’s the matter.”

“Okay. Now you need a lift to … _your garrison?_ ” asked Sam. Castiel was less than adept at picking up on human vocal intonations, but something in the younger Winchester’s manner suggested a certain degree of skepticism.

“No, I will fly there,” Castiel told Sam, squeezing his eyes shut and preparing to teleport. He opened them again and, to his dismay, found he was still sitting in the back of a Chevrolet Impala. 

“Have fun?” laughed Dean.

“Why didn’t that work?” asked Castiel, gazing disbelievingly at the hands of his vessel.

“Uh, why didn’t you fly off?” posited Sam. “This is just a guess, but I’d say maybe the lack of wings?”

“I have wings!” Castiel retorted. “They are manifested on the astral plane.”

Sam executed a languid three hundred sixty degree eye roll at that. 

Castiel cradled his head. “Why can’t I contact my brothers and sisters?” he asked. “I can no longer hear the angels speaking.

“Okay, Dean, now your homeless guy is complaining because he _can’t_ hear voices in his head.”

“See? I told you he was worth bringing along.” Dean squinted up in to the rear-view mirror. “Look, Cas. We’re nearly to Harvelle's. Why don’t you hold off trying to connect to the asshat lane or whatever.”

“Astral plane,” sighed Castiel. “Something must be blocking my powers. Something very old. And powerful.”

“Huh. Like a demon you mean?” asked Dean.

“Dean, don’t humor him,” Sam groused.

“Well, we know _he’s_ not a demon,” said Dean.

“This is why you have splashed my vessel with holy water, and injured me with a sliver blade,” said Castiel, regarding the fresh cut on his arm.

Sam blinked. “I thought he was unconscious when we did that.” He turned to look at the back seat. His eyes brimmed with hazel-tinted skepticism. “And, wait, how do you know that was holy water?”

It was Castiel’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Hey, sorry about that,” Dean told Castiel. “Mr. Suspicious here wouldn’t take you unless we put you through the paces first. Oh look, here we go,” he added, as the neon sign for Harvelle's became visible up ahead. It was usually blinking, but today was ominously dim.

“Looks sort of dark and creepy,” said Sam as they pulled into the nearly deserted parking lot. 

“It always looks dark and creepy, Sammy. It's a hunter bar!”

“Shouldn’t this place be full?” Sam pointed out the parking lot. Apart from their Chevy Impala, there was a truck, some kind of piece of shit foreign compact, and a motorcycle parked there. “And I don’t see Ellen’s car. Or Jo’s truck.”

Dean cut the engine. “Ellen and Jo are probably, you know, hunkering down for the duration. Come on, I’m thirsty!” Dean threw open the door, got out and stretched, and then immediately hit the deck as shots rang out from inside the bar.

Sam pushed open his own door and dropped behind it, aiming his pistol while Castiel emerged from the back and stood looking around, confused. Dean tackled him down to the ground. 

“What is going on?” Castiel demanded, grabbing Dean’s shoulders and pushing him away.

“They’re trying to kill us!” Dean shouted down at him.

Castiel glared at Dean, deeply offended. “They can’t kill me with bullets. I’m an angel!”

“I thought you said you didn’t have your angelic powers?”

Castiel wilted. “Well … that is technically correct.” 

Dean slipped off of Castiel and then pulled the angel up beside him, behind the opened car door.

“Ellen!” yelled Sam from behind his own wide Impala door. “Jo! What the hell?”

“I need you to identify yourself,” yelled a slim man from the doorway. He was wearing what looked like a cop uniform.

“What did you do with our friends?” Dean bellowed.

“This place is under new management!” yelled another guy from up on the roof. He was also in uniform. And then he repeated, “Get lost.”

“Wait a minute, Shane,” cautioned the cop at the doorway. “We got a situation here.”

“Look. We’re obviously not zombies!” said Sam. “We drove up in a car.”

“They’re just more of those black-eyed bastards, Rick!” Shane shouted down. “You know it and so do I!”

“Black-eyed?” asked Dean, cautiously peeking above his door. “You guys ran into demons?”

“Demons?” asked Rick. “What are you talking about?”

“They were weird guys!” came a voice from inside. An Asian dude peeked out from beside Rick. He had a weapon, but it was pointed at the ground. “They weren’t walkers, but their eyes went all slick and black, and then they started firing at us.”

“Yeah. Those are demons,” said Dean. He pointed back and forth between himself and Sam. “We’re not demons.”

“We’re just looking for our friends,” said Sam, who stood up, lowering his 9 mm.

“Demons?” said Rick, who also lowered his weapon. “You want me to believe that there’s demons?”

“Hey, they shot at you,” said Dean.

“I think they should clear out!” Shane stubbornly called down from his perch atop the Harvelle’s Roadhouse sign.

“We can’t go away!” yelled Sam, waving back at the Impala. “You blew our tire!”

“What?” demanded Shane. 

Before Castiel could stop him, Dean sprang up and stalked the other side of his car where he spied, to his grievous displeasure, a big hole in the right rear tire, which was now very, very flat. “Son of a bitch! Right in the sidewall!”

A scruffy guy with a crossbow had appeared from seemingly out of nowhere. He scowled at the tire, and then yelled up. “Shane. You got his tire.”

“How you know it was me, Daryl, damn you?”

Daryl didn’t reply, but merely glowered.

“Dude, I just got Baby new tires!” Dean told them. Everybody at this point, other than Shane, had lowered their weapons.

“Wait, your car has a name?” asked Rick.

“He’s weird like that,” admitted Sam.

“Could help you change it out,” offered Daryl.

“Daryl, we don’t even know this guy!” complained Shane. Daryl shrugged.

“It was my dad’s,” Dean told Daryl proudly. “But I had a vampire make off with my jack. Our last job.”

“A what?” asked Rick.

“Vampire? Like Twilight?” asked Glenn.

“Vampire. Nothing like Twilight,” grumped Dean.

“You can use one of ours,” said Daryl. 

“That's okay, I think they got one in the shed,” said Dean. He wandered off, and Daryl followed him.

Rick the cop had holstered his weapon and came sauntering out, evidently giving up on the notion of repelling the invaders when his bowman got chatty. Glenn followed after. “I’m Rick, by the way. That one’s Daryl, Glenn, and that’s Shane up on the roof.” 

“Sam. That’s my brother Dean. And this is, uh, Castiel.”

“I’m an angel of the Lord,” Castiel supplied. Glenn and Rick exchanged a nervous glance.

“He’s sort of a hitchhiker,” whispered Sam, making a universal signal for “he's crazy,” a circle with his index finger near his temple. “What happened to the owners? The Harvelles? They were friends.”

Rick shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know. This place was empty when we got here. We’re from a party of survivors a few miles out. My wife and son, some other folks. Anyway, we’re getting low on food and ammo, so we four were out scrounging for supplies when we ran across some other people.”

“The demons!” said Glenn, who appeared excited by the notion.

“Now, Glenn…”

“Then you have encountered people suffering from signs of demonic possession?” said Castiel. 

“What?” asked Rick. He squinted at Sam. “Uh, I don’t know how to answer that one.”

“Sure!” said Glenn. “Rick, come on, you know those guys were acting weird.”

“But … demons?”

“Well, there actually _are_ demons,” Sam supplied apologetically. “Uh, maybe not around here though.”

“There is clear evidence of powerful demonic activity nearby,” Castiel countered. “My lack of access to my powers is convincing evidence.”

Rick looked between Sam and Castiel, one hand on his holster. “Demonic activity?”

“I sense demonic activity,” said Castiel. “How can you believe the existence of walkers, as you call them, but not demons?”

“I believe what I see, Castiel,” said Rick, scowling at the angel. “And I believe I might be more comfortable when y'all are gone from here.”

Castiel scowled back, but in the middle of the staring contest that ensued, Daryl and Dean wandered back to the parking lot carrying various implements of tire extraction and repair. “Is that a Triumph?” Dean asked as they passed a motorcycle parked nearby.

“Yeah, a Bonneville,” said Daryl proudly. “It’s my brother’s.”

“Nice ride,” said Dean. “What happened to your brother?”

“Dunno.” Daryl’s expression flicked almost imperceptibly to unhappiness. “Merle, he took off when this all went down. Haven’t been able to find him.”

“Huh. Maybe we could help you track him down?”

“Walkers!” came Shane’s scream from up on the roof. 

“Dammit Shane. Watch it!” Rick barked as a shot reported just over their heads and ricocheted off a rock near their feet.

But as Shane had warned, a shuffling thicket of ex-humans were now moving towards the edge of the parking lot. “Dammit, we’re low on ammo,” said Rick as Shane continued to lay down fire. “Should we get inside?”

Dean grinned. “We got it.” Dean popped the trunk of the Impala and tugged up the floor of the trunk, which turned out to have a false bottom.

Daryl paused, impressed at the armory inside. “You guys survivalists or somethin’?”

Dean’s eyes twinkled. “No, we're Eagle Scouts. Be prepared.” He tossed a shotgun to Rick and turned. “Can you use a gun, Cas?” 

“Of course not! I'm an-”

“Angel of the Lord, yeah, I got that.” 

Castiel pointed, and Dean grabbed a hunting knife and handed it off to him. 

Another shot ricocheted right over Dean, Castiel and Daryl. “Goddammit, Shane, _watch it!_ ” Glenn screamed up as he put a hatchet in a zombie head.

“Sorry, man!” Shane cheerfully yelled down.

“Guy's a menace,” muttered Daryl.

“Cas!” shouted Dean.

Hefting the hunting knife, Castiel whirled around and stabbed a frothing zombie in the chest. Sadly, this seemed to only annoy the walker, which continued snapping and frothing and clawing at Castiel as he held it away at arm's length.

“Go for the head!” Daryl yelled at him.

After a considered hesitation that seemed to drag on entirely too long as Castiel calmly regarded the ghoul snapping just inches from his face, he grabbed out the knife and plunged it instead into the creature's forehead. It fell. Apparently satisfied, Castiel spun on his heel and immediately knifed two more.

“Your boy's got the knack,” observed Daryl between loosing his own arrows. Dean nodded appreciatively and then they all turned to downing the rest of the pack, and avoiding gunfire from Shane, who, truth be told, was a little overly enthusiastic. After a few minutes and a lot of splattering bodily fluids, the area appeared to be once again free of the living dead.

“Are we clear?” asked Rick. “Shane, are we clear?” he yelled up to the guy on the roof.

“I don't see any movement,” Shane called down, though he was still peering through her rifle's sight.

“Hey, you're pretty handy with that knife,” said Daryl as Castiel handed the bloody blade back to Dean. 

“Keep it for now,” Dean told Castiel about the knife.

“Are you LDS or something?” Glenn asked Castiel, looking over his poorly fitting black suit.

“I do not favor one religion over the other,” Castiel told him.

“He thinks he's an angel,” said Sam apologetically.

“A genuine angel?” asked Daryl, whose fingers went to the old crucifix he wore around his neck.

“Wait!” yelled Shane from up on the roof. “In the woods!”

Everybody turned around. Rifles were cocked, knives readied and arrows notched. 

Branches crackled. A shape moved.

At length, a single walker burst from the forest. The men stood around and regarded it as it shuffled forlornly towards them.

“Ain’t hardly a challenge,” sniffed Daryl.

“I got it!” came a call from overhead.

“Shane, don’t go wasting bullets,” Rick told him.

“I got him, Rick,” Glenn told the officer, twirling his hatchet.

“No, I got it!” Shane shouted again, as he apparently hadn’t heard Glenn. Glenn leapt at the walker, deftly jamming the axe into its head just as a shot rang out. Glenn lurched, his back exploding in red.

“No!” shouted Rick, who was already moving, frantically waving. “Shane! Dammit! Cease fire! CEASE FIRE!”

“Son of a bitch,” muttered Dean, who rushed over as well.

“What an asshole,” whispered Sam, who was glaring up at the guy on the Harvelle’s sign.

“I can heal him,” said Castiel, who began to march over.

“Castiel, not now!” Sam grabbed his arms. Castiel was amazingly strong for his size, and Sam barely managed to hold him back.

“Wait, this guy is an angel!” Daryl told Sam. “Let him through. He’ll perform a miracle.”

Somehow, though it wasn’t clear whether or not Sam loosened his grip, Castiel wrenched free and strode with a purposeful air to Glenn’s side. 

“Too much blood.” Rick was shaking his head. He had already pulled off his jacket and held it pressed to Glenn’s back, frantic to stop the bleeding.

“Can’t feel … my legs.” The blood had drained from Glenn's face and his breathing was raspy and shallow

“I don’t think-“ Rick started.

“Please stand aside,” ordered Castiel, who pressed his own hands into Rick’s bloody jacket on Glenn's back.

“What do you think you're doing?” said Rick, who attempted to elbow Castiel away. “He doesn't need a faith healer!”

Shane had rushed down from his nest on the roof and looked on in horror. “I didn't mean to...” he stammered. 

Castiel, who was crouched by Glenn, held still and immovable as a marble statue, pressing his hands to him. Drops of sweat hung heavy on his forehead, and suddenly a hum and a soft glow emitted from his hands, casting a warm glow on Glenn's back.

“Aiiii!” Glenn yelped and his body spasmed. Castiel got shakily to his feet. Rick and Dean immediately crowded around, and Rick grabbed the bloody jacket as it fell from Castiel's hands. He moved to press it down, but instead pulled it away, raising the back of Glenn's shirt.

There was blood, but no wound.

“Rick?” Glenn sounded groggy. He wriggled around so he was on his back, and attempted to sit up. “Hey.”

“Castiel?” said Dean, who stood up. Castiel looked bewildered. He took two staggering steps, and then toppled over in a dead faint, right into Dean's arms.


	2. Chapter 2

“So what do we do?”

The bar smelled of smoke and whiskey and ten thousand games of pool. Rick searched the faces of his comrades gathered together in the back room: Shane, the one who had just voiced the question, and Glenn. Glenn still seemed a little out of it, but he was healthy, as far as Rick could determine given his limited medical training. The bloodstain trailing down his back was the only remnant of the day's events.

Rick took the wooziness for the reason Glenn was not furious at Shane. As, he had to admit to himself, he was furious with his partner. Shane was a man he'd long trusted with his life, but that now seemed a world away. 

He wondered briefly about Daryl's opinion of the mess, but the taciturn redneck had simply muttered something about helping Dean change his tire and then slipped off.

Rick shook his head. “The brothers: they’re both good shots. And they come prepared. That’s clear.”

Shane huffed and rolled his eyes at his former partner. “Rick, be reasonable. Think! If you and me had pulled over these guys a month or so back, you know damn well we’d have arrested them on suspicion of intent to what-the-fuck. I’d be surprised if they’re not carrying their own mug shots in their wallets.”

Glenn put on his “be reasonable, Shane” face. “But in case you hadn’t noticed, Shane, it’s not last month. Or last week. Like Rick said, those dudes are packing a trunk full of ammo.”

Shane hunched his shoulders in a too-casual shrug. “So. We take the trunk. And the car. And send them packing.”

Rick narrowed his eyes. “Shane, that ain't what we do. The world has changed. But not that much.”

“Like the kid said, it's a brave new world!” Rick glared, and Shane didn't press it.

Shane looked side to side, and then lowered his voice. “Plus, they’re dragging along that crazy bastard. You heard him, raving about his angelic powers.”

“And how you know there aren’t angels out there?” asked Glenn. “I mean, a few months back, I thought the walking dead were a Saturday matinee kinda deal.”

“Are you kidding, boy? I think he scrambled your brain when he did that fake faith healing crap,” Shane declared.

As it often did these days, worry creased Rick’s forehead. “Shane. The crazy bastard healed Glenn. You saw him.”

“You even sure he got shot?” asked Shane. “I didn't see no bullet hole. I just winged him.” He ruffed Glenn's hair. Glenn, who had finally gotten annoyed, batted away the hand.

“Shane shot the kid in the back. I saw it. We all saw it.” 

Shane glowered at Daryl, who had just come in from outside. 

“Oh, you gonna come in and join the conversation, Green Arrow?” 

Daryl dropped his eyes. “Ain't no comic book guy,” he mumbled.

“You get that tire fixed?” Rick asked. 

Daryl shrugged and continued making eye contact only with the floor. “Dean and his brother are contemplatin’ headin’ out. Lookin’ for their friends. I suppose.”

“That what he told you, Daryl?” asked Rick.

Daryl nodded. “Might be a mind to join them. For a spell.”

“You still wanna find your brother, Daryl?” asked Glenn.

Daryl rearranged his shoulders and bobbed his head, which Rick took as the affirmative. “Yeah. That’s my intent,” he muttered.

“Look, no harm in us all spending the night here,” said Rick. “We've all had a day. Then they'll go their way, we'll go ours. Seems like the problem might work itself out.” He hoped this was true, but when he looked around, Daryl had finally raised his eyes, and his light eyes now bored like sharp arrow points into Shane.

 

Castiel awoke, his head pounding. They had laid him out on a pool table, the wrinkled trench coat now neatly folded beneath his head as a pillow. Someone had removed his jacket and loosened his tie, and then laid an old quilt crocheted in squares on top of him. He moaned and tried to rise.

“Cas! You’re awake. Are you okay?” Dean, who had evidently been hovering nearby, hopped up onto the pool table beside him and was gently assisting him to sit up. 

“I feel terrible.” He raked fingers through his human hair. “Is the one named Glenn all right?”

Dean was pressing hands on his shoulders, gently supporting him. “Yeah. He’s completely recovered. Like it never happened.” He shook his head, trying to fix the memory of seeing the bullet hole and all the blood. _That was what happened, right?_ “You need anything? Some apple juice maybe? I think I saw some cans behind the bar.”

Castiel considered Dean’s offer carefully. “This establishment is a bar? May I have a beer?”

Dean cracked a grin and sauntered over to the bar, where Sam, who appeared to be occupied searching for something, nodded silently to him. Dean returned with two bottles. “Sorry this is room temperature.” He flicked off the caps with his thumb and handed one over to Castiel. Castiel put it to his lips and began to drink and drink and drink.

“Hey, steady there,” laughed Dean as he realized the entire bottle was going down in one gulp.

“Are you all right, there, friend?” asked Rick. He and a couple others had just emerged from the back room, where they'd evidently been having some kind of confab. 

“I am perfectly fine,” said Castiel. He didn't add anything about who or what he was, but stared at Rick. 

“That guy, Glenn, is okay?” asked Dean.

“It's the damnedest thing I've ever seen,” said Rick, scratching his head. There's a bullet hole in his shirt, and blood down his back, but it's like he was never shot. I think he might have something to say to you.” He turned around. “Hey, Glenn?”

Glenn drew near, though he appeared somewhat shy and uncertain. “Hey, um, Castiel?”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to thank you. For what you did. I thought for a minute I was a goner. Or maybe I'd end up never walking again.” Dean looked curiously at Shane, who was also now crowding nearby, rolled his eyes.

“I guess it happens,” said Dean told Shane.

“What happens?” Shane snapped back.

“Friendly fire,” said Dean.

“I didn't hit him,” said Shane. “You think you're crazy friend cured him?” He turned to Cas. “No offense, but I don't buy your line of bullshit.”

Cas didn't contradict Shane, but rather said, “I believe I need to depart this vicinity.” His voice was low, his manner all business.

Rick looked at Castiel with concern. “Well, it's getting kind of late. We were just talking, thinking it would be a good idea to hole up here for now. The walkers are worse after dark.”

“We planned on heading out in the morning,” said Dean.

Castiel looked outside: it was definitely getting dark. “That would be acceptable.” 

“I'm of a mind to get back to the camp,” Rick admitted. “I'm anxious to see Lori and Carl. Um, maybe I shouldn't say anything. But, Lori is expecting.”

Glenn whirled around to face Rick. 

It was Shane who spoke. “Wait, Rick. Really?”

The policeman shrugged and blushed slightly. “Uh. Yeah. We were waiting to tell. Actually. We just found out.”

“Dude! Congrats!” Glen slapped him cheerily on the back.

“Uh. Yeah. Congrats,” muttered Shane nervously.

“Lori is your wife?” The question was asked in Castiel's flat affect.

“Yeah, Lori's my wife.” Rick smiled shyly.

But Castiel was staring at Shane as if he were looking through him. “What is it, Cas?” asked Dean.

“She is not Shane's wife then?” Castiel asked, pointing an accusing finger at Shane, who stared stubbornly down at the floor.

“Uh, no, she's not Shane's wife,” said Rick. He flicked a glance over at Shane, who looked like he was trying to disappear.

“I was wondering because-”

“Hey, Cas, you look pale, let's get some air,” interjected Dean, who then frog-march the flustered angel out the back door.

They ended up in a small, cluttered back courtyard beside a full trash dumpster. “Why did you interrupt me?” Cas demanded.

“Cas-”

“It's confusing. Lori is Rick's wife, but Shane also harbors feelings towards her.”

“He does, does he?”

“It's written on his soul!”

Dean smiled and shook his head. “Holy shit, Cas. What the hell are you?”

Castiel screwed up his face. “I am unfamiliar with current human customs. Is this sort of situation normal for marital relations?”

Dean grabbed Castiel by the shoulder. “Cas, just take it from me. That's the last time we're with these people we mention what's written in whose soul. Okay? The guy's gonna have a baby, he's happy, leave it at that.”

Castiel nodded dubiously. “What is a … Cas?”

“You. Your name's too long.”

Castiel stiffened further (if that were possible), drawing himself up to his full height. “My name is precisely the right length. It is the name the Lord God bestowed upon me.”

“Yeah, right. So how did you cure the kid? I swear I saw a bullet hole! Was that some kind of magic trick?”

Castiel flashed a look of infinite sadness. “I have told you repeatedly what I am. You persist in not believing.”

Dean put a tentative hand on Castiel's shoulder. “Look, an angel … it's just a little out there. Are you a witch or something? My brother and I, we usually don't get along too good with your kind, but given the circumstances, it's fine if that's your deal.”

Castiel nearly spat. “My deal? I am not a witch! Witches are unclean. They are allies of demons. I came here.... Well, I don't remember. Something is interfering with my memories. And my powers. But I fully believe I needed to contact you.”

Dean guffawed. “Now why the hell would an angel have any business with me? I mean, look at me. Do I look like angel bait to you?”

Castiel stared at Dean. “Dean Winchester. You have a destiny.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Screw destiny. Listen, if this grand message isn't me winning Powerball and sailing to the South Seas, I'm not interested.”

“What is a powder ball?” Castiel looked thoughtful. “I wonder if that is the reason behind this eventuality. The forces of darkness may be converging to deprive you of your destiny.”

Dean's smile was genuine. “Cas, listen to me buddy! You seem like a good guy. But I'm Dean Winchester here! I hunt monsters with my brother, and sometimes we stop for a brew. There's not much else to me. Sure as hell not enough to rate a zombie outbreak.”

The back door opened and Daryl emerged, still holding his crossbow. “You looking for the undead out here?” joked Dean.

“Can't be too careful. Hey, I wanted to ask your angel guy somethin’.”

“I am Castiel. Or I supposed Cas would be acceptable.” Castiel shot a sideways glance at Dean, who grinned. “But, yes, I hear the prayers of the faithful.”

Daryl scratched the back of his neck. “You see, Cas, when shit all went down.... Oh, pardon my French!”

Castiel looked exasperated. “I am indifferent to colorful language. This is yet another thing that your bible has gotten wrong.”

“Uh, yeah, that must be annoying I guess,” Dean admitted. “And weren't you supposed to carry a horn or something?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “That's my elder brother.” 

“Uh, don't get along?”

“He is … unconventional.” Castiel looked sour, so Dean decided not to press the issue. Castiel looked over to Daryl, who was shuffling his feet and staring at the ground. “What was your prayer to me?”

“Well, Cas, when … this all went down, I got separated from my brother. Merle.”

“And you wish to locate him?” Daryl nodded. “I am very sorry. If I was at full power, I could assist you in locating him. This is why I wish to travel forth from here tomorrow. I believe malevolent force in the vicinity is interfering with my power.”

Daryl scratched the back of his neck. “You think your powers, or whatever, will come on back?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, and we want to check the area for our friends, Jo and Ellen.”

Daryl flicked his eyes back towards the Roadhouse. “You take my advice, friend, that might be a good idea. Keep the peace.”

Dean crossed his arms. “Your crowd in there not feelin’ us?” he asked Daryl.

“Ain’t sure they’re exactly my crowd. But no. Anyway, you want, I know how to track.”

“You offering to come with?” Dean asked. Daryl nodded shyly.

“Oh, here you are!” Sam breezed out back. 

“Just, uh, getting some air,” Dean told him.

“Check it out! I found Ellen's notebook.”

“Jackpot,” said Dean. “So. Any idea where they went?”

Sam opened the neat, leather-bound volume, and Dean and Daryl crowded around. “It's weird. The last entry says something about going on a routine salt and burn. Demon or spirit, it's not clear. But that was dated weeks ago.”

“Did it say anything about where they might have gone?”

“I dunno. There's a lot of stuff about a tree. Wish I had access to the internet to check into it.”

“Plenty of trees around these parts,” Daryl noted with a small smile.

“A tree?” asked Castiel, who suddenly drew closer as well. Sam showed him the pages. There was a crude pencil drawing of a tree.

“Ellen isn't much of an artist,” said Sam.

Castiel grabbed the notebook from Sam, running long, graceful fingers along the drawing. “You see something, Cas?” asked Dean.

“The serpent,” said Castiel, pointing to a rough squiggle in the tree roots. “The owl. I think this could be something … very old.” He turned the page, but it was blank. “There isn't anything else?”

“A serpent and an owl?” said Daryl. “Seems like a bible story.”

“If this is what I'm thinking, the story was not recorded in your canonical biblical text. It … it was one of my Father's missteps.” The angel looked contrite.

“Did you find Jo's notebook too?” Dean asked Sam.

Sam got a wry look on his face. “Jo keeps a _notebook_?” 

“Yeah, well, stranger things.”

Sam laughed. “It's probably covered in, 'Mrs. Dean Winchester,' written with little hearts dotting the i's.”

Dean turned beet red. “She sweet on ya?” asked Daryl. Castiel too stared curiously.

Dean shook his head and marched back inside. With a ripe mix of amused and puzzled expressions, the others followed. Dean headed to the bar area, where he started to poke around under the counters, checking drawers and cabinets. “I already pretty much tossed this area, Dean,” Sam told him.

Rick, who was now standing alone, leaning against the much-stained bar, watched Dean for a long moment. “You boys looking for something?”

“Our friend Ellen had a journal,” Sam told him, tossing the volume on the counter. “I guess we can tell you, given the situation. Ellen was a hunter. Like us. We make a career of going after … creepy crawlies. Demons and vampires and such.”

“So you're telling me there are _vampires_?” asked Rick. “Real vampires?”

“Real vampires.”

“Well, don't that beat all.” His face nudged into a smile “Do the bastards sparkle?”

“Not hardly,” muttered Dean from beneath the cash register.

“We're looking to see if Ellen's daughter, Jo, had a journal,” Sam explained.

Rick looked thoughtful. “She's a kid? You think maybe she just kept it on the computer?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance. “Duh!” said Sam.

Rick shrugged. “You gotta have a kid, I guess.”

Sam pulled a ratty old laptop out from under the counter and powered it up. “Hope they remembered to charge the batteries before the power went off.”

Dean peered over Sam's shoulder and watched the desktop come up. He groaned at the empty battery symbol in the corner. “Oh, great, three percent power. Good going, Jo!” He pointed to a file on the desktop and Sam slapped his hand away. “Hey!”

“I'm trying to work fast here, Dean,” Sam muttered as he clicked around. “Oh. Crap. It's password protected.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “REO Speedwagon.”

“What?”

“Just type it in!”

“Space or no space?”

“I dunno.” Sam started typing.

“How old was this gal?” asked Rick. 

“Jo is Jo,” muttered Dean. “Hey! We're in!”

Sam began frantically scrolling. 

“We're down to 2% power, Sammy.”

“Don't rush me! There's a lot of personal stuff here. And bitching about Ellen. Heh, and you Dean.”

Dean looked annoyed.

Sam was frantically pressing the down arrow. “Oh, here's the most recent entry. Her mom's obsessed with a spirit entity. Something called Lilly?” The screen went blank. “Dammit!”

Dean scratched his head. “Lilly? The only Lilly I know is a Potter. Are we hunting Voldemort?”

“ _Lilith_ ,” said Castiel who had been awaiting silently nearby. Everyone turned around to regard the angel. 

“And who or what exactly is Lilith?' asked Dean.

Castiel was gazing at the floor. “It's something we don't talk about. It was … an embarrassment. It's been left out of your canonical bible. Lilith is a very old creature. Even older than myself. I believe she may in fact be the entity behind the recent … tribulations. And the reason I have no access to my powers.”

Dean leaned in closer. “Tribulations? As in undead guys trying to use our brains as pizza snacks?”

“That's correct, Dean.”

Rick heaved a sigh. He crouched down below the bar and pulled out a fifth of whiskey, and then felt around for shot glasses. “All right. I'll play along here. So, who exactly was this Lilith gal?” 

“She was the original bride of Adam.”

“Adam? Adam like in Adam and Eve?” asked Dean, who signaled Rick for a glass. Rick poured out shots for all of them.

Castiel nodded. “Yes. But as it turned out, Lilith had no wish to subjugate herself to Adam. She had her own ideas. Opinions.”

“They couldn't handle a woman with opinions?” asked Sam. His voice scaled up in pitch, though whether this was the result of the whiskey or the story, it was unclear.

“Lame,” said Dean. “No offense,” he added to Castiel.

“So Lilith was … replaced. She was expelled from the glory of the garden….”

“And what happened to her?”

“She was banished, to the abyss. And her house sank down unto death. But she carried the curse of her anger and pain. Every few centuries, she returns. To plague the world again.”

Dean raised his hands. “Wait, so you're saying you think, Zombieland out there is all over the First Wife's Club?”

“She is known to be a highly malevolent entity. On a number of occasions throughout history my brothers and I, those of us who watch mankind, have been called upon to drive her back into the earth. But she was not due to return for at least another century. This is … unsettling. And unexpected.” They were all leaning against the bar now. Dean tossed back his shot and pushed Castiel's closer to him. The angel gave it a glance, and then downed it in one go. 

Rick chuckled softly and poured out another round.

“All right so, what's with the tree?” asked Sam, pointing to Ellen's drawing. 

“That is how she manifests herself from the earth. The trees roots grow to the center of the earth. The owl and the serpent are her servants.”

“So, to take her out, we go get ourselves a chainsaw?” asked Rick, who seemed to be coming around to the mood of the company (with the help of a few shots of whiskey). 

“Yes, we will need to destroy the tree. It is the heart of her power. I will go tomorrow, at the dawn, and strike out to find her.”

“Wait wait wait whoa!” said Dean, putting a hand on Castiel's arm. “You just said your mojo is flakey.” Sam sighed and rolled his eyes.

“My … mojo?” asked Cas, tilting his head and downing another shot. “I'm sorry, I don't understand.”

“You said your power's down, Cas,” supplied Daryl, who had been standing silently by.

“You can't just go running off,” said Dean definitively. “You need backup.”

“This is not your concern, Dean. It's mine. I have obviously … failed in some way.”

Rick rested his arms on the bar and gripped his empty shot glass. “Look, reluctant as I am to buy into this cock and bull story, if you boys think that's where your friends might have been headed, then I'm willing to go out, maybe take a look.”

“It's our best lead on Ellen and Jo,” Sam agreed, while giving Cas another skeptical look.

“This ain't too far,” said Daryl, who now had the journal spread out in front of him. “My brother and I used to head there to fish. A lot of walkers though, last time I passed.”

“That stands to reason. It is near the source of Lilith's power. The undead would be attracted to this realm.” Castiel looked around the bar. “But I cannot countenance you accompanying me on my mission. I must go alone.” He rose from his barstool, but overbalanced, and would have likely fallen onto his celestial ass if Dean hadn't caught him.

“Cas, we're gonna catch some shut eye, and then we'll head out first thing tomorrow.”

“I am a being of light. I do not require sleep!” Cas raved even as Dean walked him away.

Sam put his head down on the bar and heaved a great moose-y sigh. Rick sat back and, twisting the cap on the whiskey, let out a laugh. Daryl leaned over Sam and said, “We'll find your friends. Don't you worry.” He rose and followed Dean and Cas.

Rick fiddled with his empty shot glass. “Guess you boys have probably heard some strange stuff.”

Sam popped his head up and looked at Rick. “We _live_ strange stuff,” he said with great weariness.

Rick bobbed his head. “Well, like you said, a few months back, if I got a call over the radio that the dead were dug out of their graves and walking around, I would have figured it was some kind of prank. I guess we all got to get used to a new way of thinking.”

Sam nodded. Although it wasn't exactly a new way of thinking for him, he tried to put himself in the place of a civilian. “I gotta admit, the way we grew up? When I told my dad I was scared of a monster in the closet, he gave me a .22.”

Rick regarded Sam. “So. Was there a monster in your closet?”

Sam shrugged, wide shoulders hunching apologetically. “Actually. Uh. Yes.”

“Damn.”

“Think it was a wraith. Though I'm not too sure any more. Dad and Dean finally jabbed the sucker with a silver knife.”

Rick rubbed his chin. “So, that tree your friend was looking for, and Lilith: do you honestly believe that's what's behind this state of affairs?”

Sam spread his large hands out on the bar and gazed into his fingers. He looked up to meet Rick's eyes. “Yeah. You'll probably think we're all raving lunatics, but yeah.”

“And you think if you find her, you and your brother, you'll be able to deal with her?”

“I think so. Though there's a certain sense that we're making this up as we go along.”

Rick nodded. “Been known to do that myself.”

 

Dean was learning that although angels of the Lord didn't sleep, they evidently snored. Castiel was lying swaddled in some blankets on the pool table. 

“Yeah, Lilith was Adam's first wife. Ain't in the King James version. Something called the apocrypha.”

Dean looked back at Daryl, his expression turned from indulgent to grim. They were sitting at one of the booths, Dean cleaning his guns, Daryl doing some dang thing that you evidently had to do with arrows. It seemed to involve sticking in more feathers. Dean needed to ask him about that. Crossbows were fucking cool. They had been working in silence for a time. Dean appreciated someone who didn't try to talk your damn head off. “You grow up pretty religious?”

Daryl's fingers went unconsciously to tap the crucifix hanging on the sliver chain around his neck. “Me 'n my brother? Yeah. Maybe more'n some.” A pause. “You?” 

Dean shrugged, snapping his 9mm back together. “I'll admit, we seem to have avoided most of it. Other than stealing rosary beads to make holy water. I think Sammy is still a believer. I'm not sure how that happened.” He glanced up to see Daryl regarding him closely.

“So. Him?” Daryl bounced his head once towards the slumbering Castiel.

“Haven't worked it out. I was thinking maybe he was some kind of witch, but I haven't seen him try to call a demon, and that's how those guys typically operate. I'm sort of kicking around the theory that he's a djinn who'd lost his marbles. That would explain the power.”

“Don't reckon he's an angel?”

Dean shook his head. “I don't believe in angels.”

“Huh.” And then Daryl went back to fiddling with the archery stuff. 

“Okay, I take it you're the silent type. So what does, 'Huh' mean?”

A small smile. “Jus' 'Huh.' I guess.”

“I know what you're thinking, buddy. Go ahead and say it. I believe in djinn and vampires and demons and weird shit, but I don't believe in angels.”

A long pause. “Welp.”

“I can't argue with someone who doesn't argue.”

“Ain't arguing.”

Dean irritably set down his weapon and gazed at Cas, curled up under a ratty afghan as well as his faithful trench coat. “Look. About Cas. I don't know. There's something about him, you know? I should just figure he's another crazy person. Like my brother does. But I feel like I oughta … you know, help him out.” Daryl nodded, but didn't look up. “But what about you? You think Mr. Sinus Condition over there is an angel of the Lord?”

“Well. Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because he says so. Not inclined to disagree.”


	3. Chapter 3

“So, we been thinking....”

Dean stood in the cold morning air, impatiently nodding at Rick. Dude seemed like a nice enough guy, but Dean was getting anxious to get going on Jo and Ellen's trail. If Cas was correct that they'd ended up getting themselves ganked by some kind of old world demon, then it was just possible that every minute counted.

And, he had to admit to himself, if she was behind the zombie outbreak, he couldn't wait to punch Lilith in the balls.

Not that she had balls....

“I'd sure like to head home. Back to camp. I'm sure all of us would.” Rick looked around at his companions, Shane, Daryl, and Glenn, who were gathered there, yawning. “But I've started to believe the thing you boys are chasing, this Lilith, might be important. And there isn't anything more important to me than protecting my family.”

“Lilith is almost undoubtedly the entity behind the current tribulations,” Cas stated.

“Well. Thanks for that, Castiel. So I wondered, I know Daryl is gonna head out with you boys. I thought maybe we all could come along. For a time.”

Dean's eyes shifted to his brother. Sam nodded, almost imperceptibly. He looked back at Rick. “Yeah, I think that would be okay. We usually work a case on our own, but this looks like it might be a big deal.”

“But Rick, how do we get word back to the camp? We're already overdue.” Shane fussed.

Rick nodded. “We got us two vehicles. I had thought to send one of us back to send word. Give them an idea where we're headed.”

“That's probably a good idea,” said Sam. Dean tried to refrain from rolling his eyes, because it seemed a little bit sissy to him, personally. 

“All right, I'll head back,” said Shane, as if that settled it.

Rick narrowed his eyes. “Shane. I was thinking of sending Glenn.”

“Sure, Rick. I guess I could do it,” said Glenn, who looked genuinely disappointed at the cancellation of his demon adventure.

“I'll do it,” Shane countered. “He's in no shape to be on his own.”

“I feel okay,” said Glenn. “I feel fine.”

“He appears fine, Shane. And didn't you tell us yesterday that he hadn't been hit after all?”

Shane’s look darkened. “I can change my mind.”

Dean scowled, now regretting he'd invited them along. “Anyway, you wanna hit it? It's getting late.”

There seemed to be a consensus, so Dean made an excuse about grabbing something from inside and headed back into the bar with his brother.

“What did I just do?” he asked Sam.

“I think we'll be okay. We're going against the undead and whatever Lilith has in store, remember. I wouldn't mind having some backup this around this time.”

“Yeah, but Shane shoots first, and then never gets around to the question later part because you're dead.”

Sam’s face relaxed into a big grin. “Well, I guess we learn to duck. Or get your angel to fix us.”

“Yeah, about the angel. Could you do me a favor?”

 

They all waved off Glenn in the compact (Dean had insisted on poking around in the piece of shit excuse for an engine beforehand to make sure the kid had a fighting chance of making it back in one piece). 

Daryl revved up on his motorbike and nodded. Dean nodded back. At least that guy seemed normal, he thought, even if he was some kind of wacky religious fanatic. Rick ambled over to where Shane waited at their truck. Dean and Sam exchanged glances. 

_“You owe me one,”_ Sam mouthed to Dean, and then, casually as he could, he wandered over to Rick and Shane and, after a little conversation (Dean caught, “Won't be the first time I've ridden in back of a police car”), he climbed into the back of the truck.

“You're with me, Cas,” Dean told Castiel, who, looking confused, stifled a yawn, which just made him look even more confused. He had finally donned the overcoat, which he wrapped tight around his body in the morning chill. “I sense … coldness.”

“Let's get in the car and crank the heat,” said Dean, leading Castiel over to the Impala. They climbed inside, and Dean turned the engine over. The truck took off, Daryl in behind it, and Dean then pulled out, taking the rear in the convoy. “You want coffee? We boiled some water on a camp stove before we left.” He held up a thermos.

“I require neither food nor drink,” Castiel said primly.

“That didn't stop you from drinking with us last night.”

“That is true. Is, uh, that the reason that my head vexes me this morning?”

Dean grinned and leaned over to pop the glove compartment. He grabbed a bottle and tossed it to Cas. “Two aspirin, and some coffee. That will fix you up.”

“Thank you. Having a human vessel is more … painful than I had imagined.” Castiel supplied himself with a couple aspirin, and then occupied himself for a while in pouring coffee from the thermos. He sniffed it suspiciously, and then took a careful sip.

“So, you haven't actually come down here before?”

“No. Mine is to watch humanity from afar. You are much … _different_ up close.”

“Different how? Different good or different bad?”

“You are different good, Dean.” Which caused Dean to break into a smile. “Some others … I'm not so certain about them.”

“Shane?” Dean immediately regretted saying it, but then peered curiously at Cas.

“Shane hides his purposes. I cannot see fully into his soul, but I can see enough. Some of my brothers have begun to act like that in recent times. I am uncomfortable with deception.”

Dean frowned and watched Cas pop the aspirin, washing it down with bitter coffee. “By your brothers, you mean the other angel dudes?”

“Yes.”

Well, that made sense: if Cas was an angel, there would be others. And they probably all hung out together, at angel camp or whatever. He had a thought. “So, tell me, if your brothers are out there, why do you think they aren't they out beating the bushes for you? I mean, if Sammy was in trouble, I'd move heaven and earth for him. You know?”

Castiel looked troubled. “I don't know. Perhaps there is more trouble at home. My home.”

“Oh, so you're worried about _them_ now?” asked Dean, who suddenly felt a wash of sympathy for the angel. Well, if that’s what the guy truly was. Dean sure hadn’t seen any feathers, and he looked more like someone who went door to door selling vacuum cleaners. Although he seemed to like stabbing zombies. 

They continued for some miles, and after a time forded a shallow stream that had become diverted across the road. Dean waited for the truck to make it across before he took the Impala. Despite Daryl's warnings, they encountered almost no walkers along the way, and really almost nothing out of the ordinary. That is, until they ascended a small rise after the stream.

“Dean, something is wrong!” Cas suddenly shouted.

“Walkers?” 

Castiel looked around, seeming to stare in to the middle distance, but then pointed ahead.

Dean peered up towards where Cas was pointing. “Is it … another stream?” Whatever it was a patch of the roadside appeared to have come to life: it was rippling and writhing like some cursed thing.

Dean leaned on the horn. Daryl, who was riding between the two vehicles, made a slow U-turn, but the truck skidded to a halt right up on the edge of the weird area.

Dean stopped the car and hopped out. “Wait, is that-“

“Snakes!” came Daryl’s holler from up ahead. Dean grabbed his weapon and leapt out of the car, not having any idea what to do. A broad band across the roadway up ahead had turned into a living carpet of writing, hissing venomous snakes. It looked like a river of snakes, completely cutting them off from the way ahead.

Not knowing what else to do, Dean put a bullet into a few of them, and Daryl loosed an arrow or two, but they seemed infinite.

“Lilith’s serpents,” said Castiel.

“Yeah, I get that,” said Dean. “What do we do?” The occupants of the truck had emerged, and were standing around as well. 

Shane stepped forwards towards the mass, and was rewarded with a chorus of hisses. He stepped back, but then got a determined look on his face. “Isn’t it obvious? We just ride over the bastards.”

“I do not think that would be a good idea,” said Castiel.

Shane made a dismissive gesture, but Rick said, “Shane, something about this … don't feel right.”

Shane turned to Rick with a disdainful expression. “Since when do we listen to the crazy dude?” he asked, hitching a thumb at Castiel. The angel narrowed his eyes, but didn’t reply. “We ride on over and pop a few of the little bastards.” And so saying, Shane hopped back into the truck’s driver’s seat and revved the engine. Looking very dubious, Rick and then Sam went back inside as well.

“I ain’t goin’ in there,” grumbled Daryl, and Dean nodded.

“This is not a wise decision,” said Castiel, but he was nearly drowned out by the truck charging into the snakes. For a brief moment, it looked like Shane’s gambit had worked, as the tires popped through snakes.

But then the carpet of serpents surged up, like some great wave, and the front end of the vehicle became stuck right in the center of the writing mass.

The truck was now bobbing from side to side as the three men inside scrambled around. A gunshot sounded, and Dean yelled, “Sam!”

Gears ground and smoked, and then Dean, Castiel and Daryl dove to the side of the rode as the truck suddenly lurched into reverse and backed off the writhing snake carpet. The three passengers tumbled out, as did a few snakes, which had evidently worked their way into the cab.

“Dammit, Shane! You put a bullet hole in the seat!” Rick was yelling.

Shane was hopping around, brushing himself off. “It was crawling up my leg! It’s not as if management is gonna fine us for the damn car!”

Sam gasped as a snake curled out of his sleeve and twisted and twined around his arm.

“Stay still!” Dean shouted.

“What are you doing?” whispered Sam.

“Trust me!” said Dean, who, as a terrified Sam cringed, put a bullet into the snake’s head, blowing it apart, and all over Sam’s sleeve.

“Ugh, snake goo,” he said.

“What the hell do we do now?” Rick asked, after he had checked a time or two or three to make sure he had no snakes on him.

Shane was pale as a ghost. “This isn’t natural. We gotta go back. We gotta get out of here.”

“There’s too many of ‘em to shoot,” said Daryl, who was pointing his crossbow nevertheless. “Maybe I could go up a bit, check if there's a way around?” he proposed, gesturing through the forest.

“That's a good idea,” said Rick. “Might be the only way. Shane?”

“What?” snapped Shane. Rick inclined his head, indicating he intended to check down the other direction. “I don’t wanna go near those fuckers.”

“Shane. Come on. We’ll stay clear.” 

“We’ll try to figure out something else,” said Dean as Daryl, Rick and an obviously reluctant Shane split up and departed.

“What are you thinking?” Sam asked his brother.

“We got by the old standby, right? Kill them with fire!” said Dean.

“Dean, I’m not so certain about that,” said Castiel. 

“Aw, come on, this will be simple. Just scorch a path and barrel on through. Snake barbeque. And the best thing? I hear it tastes like fried chicken.”

“Dean, those beasts are unclean,” Cas told him.

“Well, what do you expect,” mused Dean, who was now prowling around in the Impala’s trunk. “They _are_ crawling around on the ground.”

But Dean disregarded the angel, and soon had improvised a torch out of a stick, a rag and some gasoline. He ignited it with a lighter, and then confidently sauntered over to the snakes and waved the torch at them. “Hey take this, bitches! Indy Jones is here!”

The serpents, as one, coiled back.

And then, as one, surged towards the fire. Dean, emitting a small cry, backed up a few clumsy paces and then broke into a run. 

He turned back, having finally eluded the serpents, to see Sam was hunched over trying to catch his breath from a laughing fit. Castiel only stared.

“Nice one, Indy!” yelled Sam between fits of giggling.

Dean puffed and, annoyed, walked a few paces down the road to drench the torch in the stream. “God dammit. Hey, thanks for the help, guys. So, they like fire.”

“Well, they are from hell, right?” asked Sam. “I guess it figures.”

“Dean,” said Castiel. “I think I will need to use my powers on them.” He turned towards the snakes, raising an arm.

“Oh, no you don’t!” said Dean, who half-tackled Cas, grabbing his arm.

“Dean!”

Dean wrestled down Cas’s stubborn smiting arm. He was remarkably strong for his size. “Hey, remember what healing Glenn did to you? Look, we just started the game, and we can’t waste you on Lilith’s level one. You’re our Sword of Destiny, and we still gotta keep you in reserve for the final boss!”

Castiel stared at Dean for an uncomfortably long time. “I have utterly no idea what you are talking about.”

“Cas, isn’t there another way?” asked Sam. “You said they’re unclean, right? Maybe holy water?”

“We got exactly one flask of holy water, Sammy,” grumbled Dean. 

“Maybe not,” said Sam, smiling and eyeing Castiel.

 

“Tell me why I’m doing this again?” grumbled Sam, lighting up the brand new torch.

“It was your idea. And a good one!”

Daryl had come back around the same time as Rick and Shane, to report the weird river of serpents appeared to go on endlessly. They had since backed all the vehicles, the truck, the Impala and the motorcycle, back across the narrow stream, so the roadway was cleared between that and the snakes. The three men now stood watching as Sam, first sparing a glower for his brother, raised his torch and cautiously approached the snakes.

“Not too fast!” Dean yelled.

“Then you do it!” Sam retorted. He waved the torch at the snakes, who once again briefly ebbed back before surging towards him in a hissing writhing mass. Sam walked, rapidly, but awkwardly, backwards, luring the snakes towards the stream. He tried not to get too far ahead, backing along as more and more snakes slithered along the road after him. 

“You’re getting near!” Dean shouted, just as Sam felt himself back into the stream. He touched the torch to the ground, and leapt away as it ignited the trail of gasoline they had poured along the edge of the water. 

Sam stumbled back in ankle-deep water as the mass of serpents roiled up like a boiling tsunami, driven mad by the flames. He tripped and fell backwards. The snakes lunged forwards, looming over him.

And then they met the stream, where, as Dean dragged his brother back away, they suddenly went silent and died, hissing, the instant they touched the water.

Castiel, standing ankle-deep in the water a few yards upstream, calmly watched the lifeless bodies drift downstream.

“Ha! Instant holy water. Just add angel,” said Dean. 

“I’ll remember that,” muttered Sam. “I just hope we don’t run out of stream before we run out of snakes.”

 

“I tell you, Aquaman is one of the best.”

“Dean.”

“He had these cool snowballs he would throw....”

“Dean.”

“I mean, they were made of water. So I guess they were waterballs.”

“Dean! He talks to fish!”

“So?”

Sam regarded his brother with grave skepticism, while the other men and one celestial being who were gathered around the fire looked on with a mixture of dry amusement and complete bewilderment. “Dean. What good does _any_ of this do if you don’t happen to be on the bottom of the ocean?”

“And tell me how much crime there is in the ocean?”

“Well. None.”

“That’s because Aquaman is on the job!” Dean smugly concluded. “He has put an end to water-based crime.”

“Got a point,” said Daryl, which earned him a dirty look from Sam.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel put in. “How is talking to aquatic species any different from communication with other wildlife?”

“Why do you say that, Cas?” asked Dean.

“If as you say, this … _Aqua Man_ has power in the seas, why would he not also contact terrestrial creatures for assistance if his current location required it?”

“You mean, like talk to a moose? Or my brother?” chuckled Dean. Sam glowered.

“Yes.”

Daryl’s eyes had gone wide. “Can you do that, Cas? Talk to animals and suchlike?”

“The crazy guy ain’t Aquaman,” muttered Shane.

“Of course,” Castiel told Daryl, igoring Shane. “All angels can communicate with lower species.”

“You mean like us?” Rick asked dryly.

“You’re Dr. Doolittle?” asked Dean. Castiel only looked more bewildered than usual, so Dean added, “Can you talk to something? Like, now?”

Cas nodded, and then went very still. There was no noise for a while, nothing but the soft crackle and sputter of the bonfire.

Daryl was the first to spot her. “Look. She’s a beauty,” he whispered. The rest of them turned in the direction he was looking. A doe had emerged from the forest, and stood silently at the edge of the clearing.

There was a moment of silence. And then Shane was on his feet, aiming his gun. Daryl was up a second later, knocking him away so the shot went wild. 

The deer melted back into the forest.

“What the hell did you do that for, Daryl? That was a week’s dinner.”

“That ain’t right, Shane. He called her.”

“Dumb redneck.” Shane gave Daryl a shove, and it looked for a second like they were going to go at it. But suddenly, like a miracle, Castiel was standing between them, his glare piercing through Shane. 

“Uh.” Shane stepped nervously back a pace. 

Cas, with a last, extra smite-y glare at Shane, returned to take his seat around the fire.

“So, what you think this Lilith is gonna throw at us next, Castiel?” Rick asked, more to break up the tension than anything.

“I don't know.”

“Well, I got a guess,” said Dean. “She whipped out snakes first, so won't it be birds next?”

“You mean the owl in the branches?” asked Sam.

“Yes, the owl is her servant,” Castiel agreed.

“So we're gonna all get to be Tippi Hendren. Nice,” said Dean. “And only Sammy's got the hair for it.”

“Shut up, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

After dinner, Rick and Shane retreated to their vehicle to sleep, although they had not seen any walkers in the vicinity, it paid to be careful. Daryl had curled up next to his motorcycle, though he slept with his crossbow within easy reach.

Castiel had defiantly maintained he did not require sleep. He took first watch, along with Sam and Dean, and was soon huddled against a tree, head back, snoring with great gusto.

Sam sat near the fire, poking at the embers with a stick. He watched as his brother came and sat down next to Castiel, shotgun on his lap. Both of them eyed the truck, and Dean smiled over towards Cas. “So, what did you get?” Dean whispered to brother.

“Dude, that was the most awkward ride of my life.”

“Yeah, I know, I know, I owe you one.”

“And that back seat? I don't think it would have had enough legroom even when I was twelve years old.” Sam rubbed a sore knee as if in remembrance.

“Sammy, what did you hear?”

“But that said … Rick's got a pretty interesting story. He was in a coma when it all went down.”

Dean turned to regard Sam. “Really? Wow.”

“He'd gotten shot and was in the hospital. And somehow, maybe blind luck, he got out and managed to hook up with his family.”

Dean looked thoughtful. “And Shane?”

“Yeah, that's the juicy part. Shane was 'taking care' of Rick's family when he got back.”

“Like, taking care of the wife?”

Sam nodded, and Dean gave a low whistle. “So, score another one for your angel.”

“He's not _my_ angel,” Dean muttered, though he sounded a little pleased with himself. He smiled softly at Cas, drowsing beside him. “So Officer Friendly is a douche?”

“Well....”

“Well what?”

Sam smirked. “Dean. You did sleep with my prom date.”

Dean leaned over and clapped his hands over Castiel's ears. “Watch it! The angel!” he whispered. Cas stirred and muttered, but did not waken.

“So he's an angel now?”

Castiel moaned, and his head drooped over onto Dean's shoulder. “Well. Uh. You know,” said Dean.

 

The next day dawned charcoal grey and cold as a witch's heart. 

Dean had seized the lead in the convoy, his brother reinstalled in the shotgun seat, Castiel delegated to the back. Daryl followed behind on the motorcycle, and then Rick and Shane in the truck. 

Dean's eyes flicked to the rear-view. “You'll give us a heads up when something's skeevy, right Cas?”

“What is 'skeevy,' Dean?” asked the back seat angel. 

“If you sense Lilith or her creepy pals,” Sam explained, sparing his idiot brother a despairing look.

All three whirled around to face front as a projectile smacked into the windshield, creating a great crack.

“Lilith!” said Castiel.

“Yeah, thanks for that,” grunted Dean. 

“What is that?” asked Sam, squinting at the ruined windshield. “Is that a-”

His question was answered as there came a flurry of smacks and cracks on the left side windows. Dean stomped on the brakes and everyone ducked. Dean regarded the cracked windows: feathers and blood. “We're getting dive-bombed by birds?”

“They are not birds, but Lilith's servants,” said Cas. Gunshots fired behind them. 

“What are we gonna-” said Sam.

There was another smack, and the windshield shattered.

“Get the fuck outta here. C'mon Cas!”

Brushing off broken glass, Sam, Dean and Cas burst out of the passenger door side of the Impala and huddled behind it for a time. Daryl was just behind, crouched behind his bike. Shane was firing wildly into the sky, but then screamed when another crazed kamikazee bird crashed into his arm, knocking the gun away. Rick gave him a shove, and they too were now hiding on the lee side of their vehicle.

“What the hell do we do?” shouted Rick. Up overhead, looking like a roiling cloud, a vast flock of birds hovered, waiting to dive.

“No fucking idea,” Dean shouted back.

Another barrage of birds dove and attacked, hammering the truck and car, and knocking down Daryl's motorcycle. It fell on top of him, but the birds kept coming, pummeling the bike, turning the clean lines to scrap.

“Get him!” yelled Rick, who was already running. 

“My leg,” said Daryl.

Sam had run out too, but all three hit the dirt as more birds dove for them.

“Gotta get the bike up,” said Rick.

Castiel, who was suddenly standing there, bent down and wrenched up the bike. Rick and Sam pulled Daryl free. “Thanks, dude!” Sam told Castiel.

“The ditch, guys!” shouted Dean, jumping off the side of the road. Rick and Sam pulled Daryl down, and Shane, his arm bleeding, followed. “Cas! Get the hell down here!” Dean yelled at the lagging angel as the birds regrouped for another barrage. Castiel, reluctantly it seemed, strode to the side of the road and, at the last possible minute, hopped off to the side. He stood glaring furiously up at the sky while the birds continued to make a mess of the vehicles.

“They are unclean things,” Castiel grumbled.

“The feathered bastards junked my bike!” Daryl growled. “Uh, no offense,” he added towards Castiel.

“Cas, ideas!” said Dean.

“Is there anything like the holy water we can use?” asked Rick.

“I don't know,” Castiel admitted.

Dean literally snorted. “Don't tell me I'm gonna die in an Alfred Hitchcock movie, dude! And it's not even one of the Princess Grace ones!”

Castiel rounded on him. “I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about.”

“Dean is culturally impaired,” said Sam. “He can only talk in old movies and comic books.”

“Wait,” said Rick. “What about that comic book guy y'all were jawin' about last night? You made that doe come to us, Castiel.”

Castiel stared at Rick. “I cannot communicate with these animals, Rick. I am sorry. They are Lilith’s.”

“But what about other animals, Cas?” asked Dean. “Predators? Like, I dunno, wolves or sharks or something.”

“Wolves eat owls?” Sam asked Dean.

“Sharks?” asked Shane, rubbing his wounded arm. “For fuck’s sake.”

Cas stared up into the sky. “I can … request help. I have no guarantee they'll come.”

“Well then ask nicely!” Dean told him. “You're sort of a bird, right?” he added, flapping a pair or imaginary wings.

“Cas ain't no bird,” Daryl sourly informed Dean. “Got before you a celestial being.”

“Do we have time for this?” whined Shane. “Ask for Chrissakes! Call some scorpions, or a herd of moose!”

“Why moose?” asked Sam suspiciously.

Castiel was staring into the middle distance. “I could request this of the bees. They are very close to God. And I have always liked domestic house cats. But-”

“Cas?” pleaded Dean.

Castiel closed his eyes. There was a flapping sound, and everybody hit the deck, Dean dragging Castiel down with him. A flurry of Lilith's owls hurtled themselves against the position where the men were hiding. The birds cried out, and then the cries turned to unerathly shrieks.

Dean raised his head. “Did you hear that?” Everybody, save Castiel, squinted up into the distance. The great swarm of attacking birds was itself being dive-bombed by some magnificent birds of prey. 

“Eagles!” said Rick. “Those are eagles.”

“America!” laughed Dean. “Cas, good choice.” The angel seemed to rouse from his daze. “See, Sammy, I told you!”

“Told me what, exactly, Dean?”

“Aquaman!”

 

“We can put in a new one.”

Dean nodded grimly at Daryl. “Yeah. We'll do it later. Friend of ours owns an auto yard.” He wrenched the crowbar, pulling out the remains of the Impala's broken windshield. “Just hate to see my Baby messed up.”

Shane rubbed his bandaged arm and glared over as Dean and Daryl fussed over the Impala. “Treats that car like it's his girlfriend.”

“You wanna help up here?” Rick called down from the pickup bed. With help from Castiel – a lot of help from Castiel, in fact – the had lifted Daryl's busted motorcycle into the bed, and now, after a thorough once-over from Daryl, Rick was reassuring himself that it was in fact completely secure. “Can't be too careful.”

“Should have left that behind for scrap,” Shane grumbled as he hopped up into the truck’s long bed.

“Don't let Daryl catch you saying that, friend. Anyway, not clear we're gonna head back by this route.”

“What we need to do, we need to turn around now and get the fuck away from whatever is doing this fucked up shit.”

“Well, you think maybe we come too far to turn tail now?”

“I think we have no idea what we're dealing with, and we're letting a guy who's mentally unstable lead us.”

Rick picked up a plastic bottle of water from the bed of the truck. He leaned a hip against the cab, and scrutinized Shane. “Don't believe Castiel is an angel of the Lord?”

“You can't tell me you do!”

Rick shrugged. “You just saw him pick up a damn motorcycle and toss it into the back of a truck like it was a toy.”

“Rick, what the hell. You know as well as I do, those guys, they're hopped up on some kind of crank, they do weird shit. You've seen it, I've seen it. And he's riding with a couple of dealers.”

Rick cocked an eyebrow. “The Winchester brothers are drug dealers?”

“Oh, come on. You can smell it on Dean. I'm sure underneath that false bottom, there's a pack of weed and a bong the size of Wisconsin. And don't tell me different.”

Rick took another swig of water. “Shane. You know me. I believe what I see. Walkers: they're real. Those snakes yesterday. Those birds this morning.”

Shane crossed his arms. “Real is real. And crazy is crazy.”

 

As it turned out, Dean had enough clear plastic and duct tape in the trunk to construct a makeshift windshield, though it was admittedly breezy as hell. “I just hope it doesn't rain,” Dean sighed as they followed along behind the pickup.

“Quit bouncin' my damn bike,” Daryl, who'd take up temporary residence in the back seat, grouched at the pickup up ahead. As Shane and Rick were now on point for the convoy, they had sent Castiel to sit up with the policemen.

“Would love to be a fly on the wall for that conversation,” said Sam, as they caught sight of Cas gesticulating towards Rick.

“Why is Cas so damn chatty all of a sudden?” groused Dean.

His brother grinned. “Maybe Rick knows about something other than Marvel and DC?”

“I can talk about other things!”

“Dean, you sound like a jealous boyfriend!”

“Do not.”

“Yeah. You do,” Daryl put in.

“You! Motorcycle Boy, you could ride up on top you know.”

Daryl's face quirked into a small smile. “Probably better ride up there.”

“Do not dis Baby.”

“Dean!” It wasn't clear if it was from his brother's warning, but Dean jammed on the brakes just in time to avoid rear-ending the pickup. Everyone was already piling out up ahead, so the passengers in the Impala did the same.

The truck had stopped at the crest of a small rise, and Rick was pointing off into the distance.

“Is that it, you think?” he asked.

“Yes. Certainly,” Cas replied. He stood still as a stone angel.

“I'm gonna grab the glasses,” Sam said as he darted around to the back of the car.

“That's the tree?” Dean asked Castiel.

“That is the center of Lilith's power,” Castiel told him. “I can feel it radiating, even up here.”

“What's wrong with it?” asked Daryl. Everyone fell silent. 

The tree was huge, its immense branches dwarfing everything around it. But the foliage was the most disturbing thing. The leaves were not green, but a pale, sickly flesh color. They sometimes appeared to ripple in the breeze, although there was no prevailing wind that day.

Sam was back with a pair of binoculars. He peered through them, carefully focusing. He stared for a long time.

“Sam. What is it?”

“I don't believe it.”

“After all we been through?” scoffed Shane. “Gimme the glasses.” He grabbed them from Sam, who didn't put up a fight. Dean looked questioningly at his brother, who stared at the valley, shaking his head.

Shane emitted a cry and stumbled back a few paces. “It's not possible. No. I'm not going against that shit. We're turning around. We're going back.”

“Hand over the damn glasses,” snapped Dean, snatching away the binoculars. He swung around to focus on the tree, ignoring Shane's caterwauling. He immediately saw why the leaves created that uncanny rippling effect: they were not leaves. He felt ill.

“It's … it's full of people.”

“It's like a Bosch painting,” said Sam, staring at the mass of humans – or rather ex-humans – now writhing and twisting in the branches.

Dean handed the glasses over to Rick. He stared for a while, and then turned to Castiel. “But they're not human, are they?” 

“No. They are the undead.”

“It's a fucking tree full of walkers?” sputtered Shane. “That's it. Rick! We are fucking done, end of story, game fucking over. We are going home. We're going back to camp, back to our families.”

Rick eyed his partner. “What families, Shane?”

Shane's eyes were murderous. “You don't go back to Lori, then goddammit, I will.”

“Over my dead body.”

Shane had his gun out, quick as lightning, pointed at Rick. “I can arrange that.”

Rick raised his hands.

“Drop it.”

Shane glanced to the side. Dean had a gun pointed at his head. Sam had a 9mm raised, and Daryl had strung an arrow. But then Shane moved quick as a snake, grabbing Rick, gripping him in a headlock, his gun at Rick's temple.

“Don't any of you guys see? We need to get out of here!”

“Shane,” said Rick, calmly as he could. “We can talk about this.”

“No we can't! We're done talking. I'm taking the pickup, and you assholes can deal with the freaky walker tree and the freaky bitch.”

“Put the gun down, Shane,” Dean ordered.

“Get out of my way or he loses his head!” Shane barked, as he began to frog-march Rick over to the pickup. Sam, Dean and Daryl kept their weapons pointed as he eased over. He backed up slowly until he reached the pickup truck. Then he knocked Rick over and hopped into the cab, gunning the engine.

“Hello, Shane.”

Shane turned, surprised to see Castiel was waiting in the passenger seat. “How the hell did you get up here?”

“I find I like riding in what they call, ‘shotgun,’” Castiel explained.

“Get the fuck out.”

Castiel calmly touched two fingers to Shane's temple, and he collapsed in a heap over the steering wheel, causing the horn to blare.

“Whoa,” said Dean, who had just run over. “You got the Vulcan neck pinch?”

Castiel tilted his head in puzzlement.

“You wouldn't understand the reference,” said Sam, yanking Shane's head back to shut up the horn. Shane slumped back against the headrest.

“Wow. How long is he gonna be out?” asked Dean.

Cas glared at the unconscious figure. “He lives. But he will remain unconscious for most of a human day.”

Daryl was helping Rick to his feet. “Can you blink him out for a week? Or a month?” the cop grumbled. “I've just about had enough of that jackass.”

After a certain amount of due consideration, the small party decided the best course of action would be to stuff Shane's unconscious body in the back of the truck alongside Daryl's wrecked motorcycle, handcuffed to the side, and then pray for a sudden rainstorm. Or maybe a rain of frogs, given the circumstances.

Dean scowled at the motorcycle, and then grabbed something from under the mangled fender. He made a face, and tossed it out, wiping his hand on his shirt. It was an owl carcass. “I swear we still got some in the cab,” said Rick. “Or maybe they got under the hood, wedged in the engine. It was starting to stink pretty bad.”

“Just, gross, man.”

Daryl and Sam set out to scout up ahead. They brought back the unhappy report that the road became impassable only a short distance down the road.

Dean took the news as a cause to pack as much of the contents of the Impala's trunk into a gym bag.

“We gotta go for the tree,” he said. “You coming with us, Rick?”

“Yep. I still consider myself an officer of the law. And that's what we do.”

“Daryl?” asked Dean. “This is gonna be shitty. I'm just warning you guys.”

“Fuck yeah,” said Daryl. “I'm goin'. That's what we do.” He and Rick shared a little smirk.


	4. Chapter 4

There was no breeze at all in Lilith's valley. 

Although the area was heavily wooded and thick with undergrowth, which made progress slow, there didn't seem to be any animals around: not even insects. Not that Castiel would have expected as much.

The only sounds were footsteps and their own breathing.

It was.... Well, it was frankly unsettling. Dean had grown up around the strange and unearthly, but even he felt the small hairs on the back of his arms standing up, and an unpleasant sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Cas was walking beside him. “I have a bad feeling about this,” said the angel.

This caused Dean to stifle a laugh. Castiel regarded him curiously, puzzled, like he was some kind of laboratory specimen. “Don’t get jittery now, buddy,” Dean smiled.

“I can no longer hear my brothers and sisters. And I feel very weak. I fear I am not going to be much use to you.”

“Hey, I’d still take you feeling wimpy over ten other guys.”

That got a small smile.

“You usually hear … angel voices? In your head?” Dean asked as they picked their way around a stand of angry-looking ferns. “Like a radio or something?”

“Ever do I hear them. We are never alone, as always we can hear our brethren.”

“I guess that would be disorienting. But maybe it’s a good thing, you know? I mean, Sammy hates the stuff I play on the radio. We’ve been fighting about it since we were kids.”

“Dean. I realize you are trying to show a brave face. We are probably going to our death.”

Dean grabbed his shoulder and smiled. “Well, whatever happens, I know my friends got my back.” 

Everyone in the party shared a small smile.

And then everyone stopped dead.

They had reached the edge of a clearing. The woods, the undergrowth, the grass: everything living suddenly stopped within a fifty yard radius of the great tree, leaving nothing at its roots but rocks and withered grass. It was like a meteor crater, like something foul had slammed into the earth, curdling everything in the vicinity.

As for the tree, it was even weirder to behold up close, as if one of Bruegel’s twisted hell visions had been wrenched from the painting and pulled writhing and screaming into reality. Lilith's monstrous habitat was unimaginably large at this distance, tree trunk thick as a fat septic tank, great loathsome branches stabbing outward into the clear air. 

And twisted in the branches were the decaying remnants of dozens upon dozens of living souls. They stunk of sulfur and decay, though they were, for the moment, still and silent.

“Guess you can't call 'em walkers any more, can you?” whispered Dean, squinting up into the sun. 

“Climbers?” proposed Rick.

“Those things still alive, Cas?” asked Sam.

He got his answer.

There was a soft, strangled moan from up high, and one of the twisted undead stirred. A few beings around him stirred as well, and then a few more, and then it was like a whole section of the tree was writhing and moving. 

Of the men below, no one moved, no one took a breath.

And then it was over.

“Holy fuck that's creepy,” muttered Dean. “So how we go calling your buddy, Lilith, Cas?”

“She is not what I would consider a friend, Dean,” stated Castiel. In response, another section of the tree began to stretch and groan. 

Dean felt a tickling on the back of his neck.

“Castiel, come to join me?”

“Lilith.”

Everyone jerked around. There was now a tall, slim blond woman standing in back of them, at the edge of the woods. She may have been quite pretty had she not been glaring at them with deep malevolence. She had one long arm wrapped around Shane, one finger tracing his ear.

Shane, in turn, had his hands curled around a shotgun. And he looked even less friendly than usual.

“Shane, you need to put that down,” cautioned Rick, holding up a hand. Shane merely glowered.

And then Shane's eyes went black.

“Shane? What the hell. Can you hear me?”

“Uh, I think the answer is no, Rick,” Dean told him.

“My pets wanted to greet you all,” said Lilith. 

“Let them go,” Castiel told her.

“Let who-?” Dean started, and then he gasped. There were now two women and two men standing in the woods just behind Lilith and Shane. He held a hand over his eyes, squinting into the darkness. “Ellen? Jo?” 

“Glenn,” whispered Rick, as the now black-eyed young man pointed his gun towards them.

“Who's the other guy?” Sam asked.

“Don't you recognize him, Daryl?” taunted Lilith.

“Ain't him,” said Daryl, who was already aiming his crossbow. “That ain't my brother.”

Castiel closed his eyes. He raised a hand, and began to chant in a strange language.

Lilith whirled around and literally hissed at him. She threw up an arm, and Castiel went flying backwards.

“Cas!” shouted Dean. He ran towards where the angel had fallen.

“Kill them!” Lilith ordered. “Kill them all!” Her possessed minions opened fire.

Everybody fell back and hit the dirt. Unfortunately, there was not a hell of a lot of cover in the shadow of the tree. Rick raised his gun.

“Don't hurt them!” yelled Sam, holding Rick’s arm.

“But they're shootin' at us!” Rick yelled back.

“They're possessed. Well, except maybe Shane, he's just a jerkwad.”

Daryl managed to loose an arrow at Lilith, who was stalking over towards Dean and Castiel. She halted and grabbed the arrow in mid-flight. And then with a growl she sent it back, sending Daryl diving into the dirt.

“Daryl!” shouted Sam, who had rolled over and shot a walker that had dropped from the tree and was now considering snacking on the archer for lunch.

“Boys, we gotta get outta here,” said Rick as they all turned around and realized they were now being surrounded: Lilith's trigger-happy demons on one side, and the walkers now silently slinking down from Lilith's tree on the other. 

“Dean, where's Cas?” asked Sam as Dean stumbled back over to them, dodging both bullets and walkers.

“He says he'll take care of Lilith, we should deal with the tree.”

They all turned to hear a groan as once again Lilith sent Castiel tumbling.

“How is that exactly dealing with Lilith?” asked Rick.

Daryl whirled around and got a walker with an arrow, pinning it to the tree.

Lilith, who was about to clobber Castiel yet again, groaned and held her side.

“The tree!” said Dean.

“No time!” said Rick as several walkers moved in on them. “Fall back. Now!”

It sounded enough like an order for everybody to turn tail and run, avoiding gunfire and one step ahead of the shambling walkers. 

“I got an idea,” said Dean. “But we gotta get back up to the truck.”

“I’m not arguing with that,” said Sam as they bolted for the woods, and cover.

 

“Okay, Daryl, we gotta get a flaming arrow into the tree,” said Dean as his brother and Rick made a fuss clattering around the truck.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. “A what?” Daryl finally replied.

“Flaming arrow?”

Daryl gave Dean a disgusted look. “Man. You mean like in a damn comic book?”

“Yeah, sure, Green Arrow or whatever! Ollie is cool. And he dates Black Canary, dude. Black Canary!”

“Didn't he have arrows with … boxing gloves and some shit?”

“Ha, so you do read comics?”

Daryl emitted a low sound that sounded a hell of a lot like a growl.

Dean stalked over to the Impala and wrenched open the trunk. “Daryl! Rag. Gasoline. We gotta save Cas! We gotta improvise. Come on, you're the fucking survivalist.”

Daryl’s eyes had narrowed down to resentful slits. He rubbed the scruff under his chin. “All right, all right. Not wearing any damn green tights though.”

Sam had just ambled over from his recon at the truck. “Dean, you think fire is gonna do it?”

“I'm going with what I know, Sammy, salt and burn.” He looked over at Sam and Rick. “You guys all done?”

Rick hitched up a nylon sports bag. “You ain't gonna want to use this bag again, I guess,” he said, indicating the sticky red stains on the side.

 

Back down in the valley, Lilith's demons were beginning to grow restless. The sat in the cool of the trees, just downwind of the hideous tree, scratching and twitching trigger fingers.

“I thought we were going to get to kill somebody,” groused the one currently inhabiting Glenn's body.

“Speak for yourself,” replied the one in Jo's body. “At least you have a decent sized meatsuit. What is this, a midget?”

“You're a little girl,” guffawed Ellen, or rather Ellen's demon inhabitant. “Hahahaha.”

“Where's Lilith, anyway,” groused Daryl's brother, Merle.

Glenn peered into the distance where there was a yelp and then a crashing sound. “Still beating the crap out of the angel,” he reported. “Gotta give it to that guy, he can take a lot of punishment.”

“Go fuck yourself, Asmodeus,” grumbled Jo. “Hey!” she growled as she felt herself smacked in the head. She jumped to her feet, bringing up her gun and waving it around at the other demons. “Who did that? You're getting a bellyful.”

Shane crouched down and brought up a small, feathery, bloody carcass, held delicately between finger and thumb by what used to be a wing. “Is this … a bird?”

“Was a bird,” said Ellen, wrinkling her nose. “It stinks. Get rid of it!” Then there was another smack. And another. The demons were being pelted by owl carcasses.

“Are they stupid?” bellowed Jo. The bellow came out as more of a squeak. “Did they run out of ammo?”

The demons rose, weapons pointed in the general direction of where the owl bodies were coming from, although in the cover of trees, it wasn’t exactly clear.

There was a moan and a crackle of underbrush. The demons whirled around and all five of them fired weapons, filling the unlucky approaching walker with lead. But there was another ghoul behind it. And another. And two more.

“They're not supposed to attack us!” said Shane.

“Shit!” said Glenn, glancing around in a panic at the veritable pile of dead birds now spread around their position. “They're attracted to the carrion!” He turned and fired, and fired again as a small mob of the undead dropped from Lilith’s tree and shuffled towards them.

 

Standing farther up the hill, Dean put down the binoculars and laughed. 

“Is it working?” asked Rick, who was stationed at the bottom of a fairly large tree, hoisting “ammo” up to Sam.

“Yeah, the demons are pretty occupied at the moment,” laughed Dean. 

From somewhere high in the tree, Sam wound up his improvised sling and lobbed another bird carcass their way. “This is cool! This should be an Olympic sport,” he said. 

“You guys keep at it,” Dean told Rick and Sam. “Come on, Daryl, we gotta get you close enough to that tree.”

“What's close enough?” asked Rick.

Daryl huffed and glared at his improvised flaming arrows. “No fucking idea.”

Dean and Daryl hurried down the hill, Daryl hauling the crossbow, and Dean a quiver full of improvised projectiles. “We might only have one chance at this,” Dean reminded Daryl. “Lilith feels stuff that happens in that tree. So make sure we're close enough.”

Daryl nodded and appeared thoughtful. After a time, keeping a close watch on the demons and Lilith, they once again reached the edge of the woods near Lilith's broad tree. It was full of motion now, as the twisted inhabitants were slowly winding their way down the branches. Then, having alit finally on solid ground, they would shamble towards the demons and the fragrant pile of bloody owl carcasses at their feet. 

“We close enough yet? That's trunk's pretty fucking big.”

“Ain't aiming for the trunk,” Daryl told him. Dean set down his improvised quiver, and they spent a moment setting one of the cloth-wrapped arrows afire.

Daryl squinted down the spine of the bow for what seemed an eternity, meanwhile Dean nervously scanned the demons, who seemed increasingly frustrated with the barrages of zombies. “I think they're gonna break formation! Can you-” But just at that moment, the bow twanged, and a flaming projectile arced across the distance between their position and the tree.

The arrow flew low, and plunged, not into the trunk, but into the midsection of a very confused zombie.

“Shit!” said Dean.

“Gimme another,” said Daryl, who seemed completely unperturbed. They lit up another arrow, and after another interminable wait, Daryl let fly, bagging yet another zombie.

“Missed again,” Dean muttered.

“No. Watch this,” said Daryl, a small smile tracing his features.

The first walker's clothes and hair had begun to kindle. He turned and stumbled into another walker, which also caught fire. Then two became three, and one of them began to stumble back towards the tree, where it collapsed at the foot of the tree, its charred body lying over the roots. 

The tree roots began to smoke.

“Zombie kindling!” shouted Dean. “Dude, you're a fucking genius.”

“Yep,” said Daryl. “Oh. Fuck.” Both he and Dean turned as Shane and Glenn ran them down, guns a-blazing.

 

Castiel idly wondered why he was not dead yet. He fell as, once again, Lilith smacked him in the jaw. He lay on the ground too weak to get up, only to be gripped by the hair and wrenched back up so he was on his knees before Lilith.

“You don't know how long I've waited for this,” she hissed.

“You have an odd sense of fun,” Cas told her, which earned another smack. He could currently see only out of one eye, as the other was swollen shut, so didn't have a good sense of Lilith's falling blows any more. He considered this a blessing.

“You'll die here, at my feet. All alone! Abandoned by your brothers, and by your human friends!”

“Do you think they're my friends?” Castiel wondered, a dash of hopefulness in his voice. The thought somehow gave comfort. Dean seemed very nice. 

Lilith paused her assault. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded.

“What do you mean?”

The demon huffed with indignation. “I am in the process of murdering you and you are waxing lyrical about those idiot hunters you've adopted as pets.”

Cas spat blood. A tooth came out as well. He ran his tongue along his vessels gums. It was an incisor, it seemed. “I would not classify the relationship as owner/pet. It is, surprisingly enough, one of coequals,” he lisped through the gap in his teeth.

Lilith glowered down at him, and then pulled back her hand for a killing blow. But instead she jerked back and cried out. “My tree!” She stared in horror as the tree, which was now surrounded by a small mob of flaming zombies, spat and licked and crackled as it was slowly consumed by fire. “I'll kill you for this!” she screamed, rounding back on Castiel.

Castiel, to her surprise, now stood before her. And there was not a mark on him.

“Oh,” said Lilith. “Shit.”

“I think death will indeed be the conclusion of our relationship. However, I don't believe it will be mine.” 

Something glinted. Lilith glanced down in horror. 

Castiel was holding a sword.

 

“Don't hurt them!” yelled Dean.

“Tell them that!” Daryl yelled back as he clobbered Shane with his crossbow. 

“Well, at least don't kill them,” Dean hedged, punching Glenn in the jaw.

“Aw, shit,” said Daryl, as the rest of Lilith's demons came charging at them. “That's my damn brother!”

“I'll hit your brother!” said Dean.

“Don't hit my brother!”

“Then what am I supposed to do with your brother?”

And with a smack, Merle hit the deck as he was clobbered by a flying owl.

“These slings are awesome!” said Sam, who had just come running up with Rick.

“Freeze!” bellowed Jo. She and Ellen, holding shotguns, now had the drop on the four of them.

“Uh. Drop that, young lady, or I'll belt ya with a chicken!” said Rick dubiously, holding his sling in what was admittedly a not terribly threatening manner.

“They're owls, actually,” said Sam.

Shane leapt to his feet. “You're dead,” he warned, raising his gun.

“Shane, is there any eventuality where you are not an asshole?” asked Rick, which got a chuckle from Daryl. Shane pointed his weapon at Daryl, who shrugged.

And then there was a great flash of light and a crack, like a crash of lightning followed by a boom of thunder. Shane threw his head back and began to belch an acrid-smelling black smoke. As did the other four demons, who then collapsed to the ground.

Lilith's tree flared up and went crashing into the ground in a cascade of yellow and orange and red. The humans who remained standing were all thrown from their feet.

“Are we still alive?” asked Dean when the dust had settled.

“I believe so,” said Castiel, who was now standing over them, holding a bloody sword.

“Cas!” shouted Dean. He leapt to his feet and threw his arms around the very flustered angel. “You're alive.”

“But Lilith is finished,” said Cas, who tentatively patted Dean on the back. Dean let go the embrace and grabbed the angel by the shoulder. Castiel turned and pointed across the valley, where there was now a large smoldering crater where Lilith's tree had once stood.

“Is everybody okay?” Rick asked as he too clambered to his feet. 

“What the fuck just happened?” groused Jo as Sam hoisted her to her feet. “I got a migraine and I wanna take a shower.”

“Demon,” Dean told her.

“Oh. Crap.”

“What?” asked Glenn, rubbing his head.

“You were possessed by a demon, son. We all were,” Ellen told him. She stretched and tested her fingers.

“Inside me?” asked Glenn, who leaned over and examined his own abdomen. “Yuck!”

“You guys all back to normal?” asked Dean.

Daryl wrested his equally scruffy brother to his feet. “Merle?” he whispered.

“Daryl! As I live and breathe,” said Merle, pulling Daryl into a hug.

“Families. Reunited,” said Dean smugly. “Our work here is done.”

“I dunno, Dean,” said Sam. “We've burned, think maybe we should salt as well?”

“Can't be too careful,” said Dean. 

Castiel nodded in assent. “And the earth must be sown with salt.”

“We got bags of salt up in the truck.”

“Mom!” whined Jo. “Can’t we get back and take a long hot shower first? I mean, goddammit.”

“I thought you wanted to be a hunter?” Ellen cracked.

Just then, there was a moan as Shane, blinking and cursing, raised himself up to sit. “I just had the weirdest fucking dream.”

 

“You guys all stick together now, you hear?” Rick cautioned. 

They had gathered around Ellen’s truck and Glenn’s car, which had fortunately been parked far enough away from the melee to survive the impact. Unfortunately, they were over on the other side of the road from the other vehicles. 

“We’ll be fine, Rick!” Glenn assured him. He stood outside his car, a still dazed looking Shane in the passenger seat.

“We’ll all meet up at the Roadhouse, right?” Ellen asked as she and Jo stood beside her truck. 

Dean embraced the elder Harvelle. He pulled back, hefting a cloth bag. “Yeah, we’re just gonna lay down some salt, like Cas thinks we need to, and then we’re out of here, believe me.”

There were waves as Jo, Ellen, Glenn, and Shane drove off. 

Rick tilted his head. It was fairly clear he was thinking about Shane, who had been oddly quiet since he woke up from his possession. “I’m not completely sure they’ll be all right.”

“Rick. Dude,” said Dean. “He gives them any trouble – any trouble – believe me, Jo and Ellen will shoot his ass.”

Rick’s face contorted into a wry smile. “All right. So we’ll get the salt and get the fuck out of here.”

“That’s my vote,” said Dean. “I need a damn beer.”

“Can we avoid the place with the tree?” asked Sam.

“It’s the most direct way,” said Dean.

Sam shivered. “It still give me the creeps.”

“What do you guys think?” Dean asked the group, which also included Cas, Daryl, and Merle, who hadn't really said anything since waking up from his possession. Daryl shrugged, and Merle shrugged as well. They were no help.

“I’d say we nut up and head on through, get this shit over with,” said Dean.

“Lilith poses no further danger, Sam,” Castiel assured him. “And the good part of her dead were destroyed when the tree collapsed.”

“That’s a good point,” said Rick. “We gotta be on the lookout for any stray walkers still in the area.” 

“I got an idea about that,” said Dean.

“What’s that?” asked Sam.

Dean only grinned. “I’ll show you. Come on!”

Everyone nodded in assent, and the party set out through the woods. Despite the tension everybody felt, the walk was uneventful, until they once again reached the clearing where so recently Lilith’s tree had grown.

“Why are there still zombies here?” Sam whispered. And, indeed, there were several walking dead shuffling around the area. “How are they not … I mean, well, they’re already dead. But how are they not … squished?”

“They are probably still drawn to the area by the remnants of Lilith’s power,” Cas told him.

“We wanna take some of ‘em out?” asked Daryl, who was already notching an arrow.

“Wait a minute! I got this!” Dean announced, and without explaining any further, he strode on into the clearing. He waved his arms in the air. “Hey, zombie-zombie-zombie! Come on, fresh brains!”

“Is your brother an idiot?” Daryl asked Sam.

“Uh, yeah. But let’s wait.”

Dean had attracted some attention. He ignored the walkers, however, and instead brought out the sack Ellen had given him and quickly poured out a line of salt. He stepped behind the line and waited, grinning.

A couple of undead shuffled over, but then stopped dead as if they had come up against an invisible wall. Dean stood and stuck his tongue out at the walkers.

“Holy crap!” said Sam, striding out to where his brother was standing. “How did you figure that one out?”

“I figured they belonged to Lilith, the usual rules applied.”

Rick now hunkered down behind the salt line. He reached out to brush his fingers on it. “This is just salt.”

“Just salt,” Dean told him. “Be careful not to break the line, or we’re fucked.”

“This is all we need to keep them away?”

“Not only that,” Dean told him. “You can make trap by just painting lines. We can show you.”

“This will come in mighty handy,” Rick told him.

“Hey, sure!” said Sam. “We could bait a devil’s trap with carrion, like we did with the birds today.”

“I think we’ll soon have this mess cleared up,” Dean told Rick as the others gathered around.

Daryl frowned and looked upwards. “Did you hear that?”

There was a soft sound, like a distant flutter of wings. And then a tall, dark figure appeared in the middle of the clearing.

“What is that?” asked Dean as suddenly every single weapon was raised and cocked to fire.

“It is my brother!” said Castiel, who was already striding over to greet the newcomer. “Uriel!” he hailed.

“Okay, now I'm the one that’s got a bad feeling about this,” said Dean.

Sam frowned, but followed along as Dean too walked towards where Uriel was standing. The rest of the men kept weapons pointed at the walkers, who were still being frustrated by the salt line.

“Castiel. Why am I not surprised to find you here amidst the devastation?” said Uriel.

“Uriel! It was Lilith. She was behind the recent tribulations.”

“And you, Castiel. You appear to have pretty much fucked her.”

Castiel frowned and tilted his head. “We did not have sexual intercourse, Uriel.”

“Have you always been this much of an idiot? Castiel, who do you think released Lilith?”

Castiel paused.

“Good god damn. Are you telling me you angels did this?” Dean broke in.

“Dean Winchester,” said Uriel, turning towards Dean. 

Castiel immediately stepped over between them. 

“What's going on here? Getting attached to your mud monkeys?” mocked Uriel.

“Cas! He’s got a sword!” Uriel swung up a hand and Dean and Sam went flying head over heels. And then Uriel lashed out with his sword at Castiel, who countered. The swords rang out, but it soon appeared Cas had been weakened by the fight with Lilith. Uriel knocked him down, and then grabbed his hair and pulled him to his knees, sword at his throat.

“This is not my day,” Cas muttered.

There was a noise, like the cocking of weapons. Because that’s what it was. Daryl and Merle had drawn a bead on Uriel with gun and crossbow.

“Drop it, angel dick!” barked Merle.

Uriel looked up and glowered. He once again raised a hand, as he had with Sam and Dean, but seemed surprised when it had utterly no effect on Daryl and Merle. “What the hell?”

“Not hardly,” said Daryl.

“Drop the sword, or you’re going to meet your maker,” Merle persisted. “And I suspect he ain’t gonna be pleased!”

Dean and had recovered himself enough to crowd around as well, rubbing his already bruised ribs. “These guys mean business,” he told Uriel. “I think you better listen to them.”

Uriel glowered. “Fuck off, mud monkey!”

Daryl and Merle exchanged a knowing glance.

“By the Father....”

“And the Son....”

“And the Holy Spirit.”

“What do you think you're doing?” asked Uriel.

Instead of answering, Daryl and Merle both opened fire at Uriel, who yelped and fell back. “How are you doing that!” he screamed as their bullets tore into him.

Dean grabbed up Castiel's angel sword from where it dropped and leapt over to plunge it into Uriel's heart. He jumped back as flames erupted from the angel's eyes and mouth. He emitted a shower of light and toppled over. There was an intense flash of light, followed by a dead silence.

“Damn!” said Dean, regarding the striking black scorch marks that spread out, like a pair of giant wings, around Uriel’s body. 

Castiel drew near. “Dean...” he said. Dean reached over and nudged Uriel with his toe to make sure he was dead. “Uh, I don’t think that is respectful behavior.” But he was smiling slightly.

“Would you rather I poked him with a stick?”

“How … how did you to that?” Castiel asked, looking at the sword in Dean’s hand. “Only an angel can kill another angel.”

Dean shrugged. “I wanna know what’s up with you guys!” he said, pointing to Daryl and Merle.

The brothers exchanged a glance. “Me and Merle: we’re on a mission from God.”

“Whoa! Like the Blues Brothers?”

“What are Blues Brothers?” Cas asked. “Is that an order of monks?”

“Cas, you’re awesome,” said Dean, to a very puzzled expression from Castiel.

“Well, whatever you guys did, it pasted the rest of the walkers,” said Sam, who had just stumbled over along with Rick. It was true: every zombie in the clearing was now down.

“Okay,” said Dean. “Before we take off, who’s in the mood for a bonfire?”

 

“Dean,” said Cas as the two stood and warming their hands over the burning pit of Lilith’s lost souls. The rest of the party had gone to scrounge up more firewood while Dean and Cas slowly pulled all of the undead into the pit they’d dug. They had left Uriel where he lay, perhaps both unconsciously wanting to leave the big angel for last.

“We still got a big job ahead of us, Cas,” said Dean. “Mopping up after Lilith. We gotta teach these folks how to trap walkers.”

“I wanted to talk to you about that, Dean. I feel I need to leave.”

“What, back to heaven?”

Cas nodded. He looked almost sad to Dean, but perhaps it was a trick of the firelight.

“Won’t it be dangerous, what with everybody going after each other?”

Cas shrugged. He looked very human. “It’s my home. As earth is yours.”

“Well, I guess if you feel you got to….”

“Brother!” came a voice. 

Dean had his weapon cocked in a fraction of a second, and Cas held his sword at the newcomer’s neck. “Balthazar,” he said.

Balthazar held his hands up. “Hey. I come in peace. I was just going to inform you that Uriel has been conspiring against us, Cassie.”

“Yeah, I think we worked that out, Balthy,” said Dean, keeping his gun leveled at Balthazar.

Cas lowered his sword, tilting his head. “Have you informed Heaven of Uriel’s perfidy?”

“Well, no.”

“What?” 

Balthazar’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “There’s no one really up there to inform. It’s total chaos!”

“Wait,” said Dean. “You mean the angels are going at each other now?”

“So it would appear. I really don’t tend to mix in these kinds of things. Civil wars are so dreary, and they cut into my cocktail hour!” Balthazar sighed and, ignoring the weaponry that was still pointed his way, strolled over a few steps to regard Uriel’s lifeless body. “So, um, who dispatched the old bastard. I should mention, it’s still a capital crime to kill a brother. Even if he is an arse.”

“I did,” Castiel said, holding up his sword and glancing nervously at Dean. “I killed him.”

“Um, yes, but he’s been stabbed _and_ shot.”

Cas turned and grabbed the gun out of Dean’s hand. “Yes. I stabbed him and shot him.”

Balthazar arched an eyebrow at Dean, and then smiled at Castiel. “Well, alrighty. I’ll accept your confession. But you might want to keep your head down for the next, er, century or so. At least until this mess is sorted out.”

Cas nodded grimly.

“Oh, and for future reference, dear, that’s not at all how you hold a gun. He looked around at Dean and Cas, and held up a hand, wiggling his fingers. “Toodles!”

And then, to the sound of soft wingbeats, he vanished.

Castiel glanced at the 9mm in his hands. He sighed deeply and handed it back to Dean. With a flick, the sword appeared to disappear up his sleeve. He pulled his trench coat around him and stared into the distance.

“So, you, uh, you still heading back?” asked Dean, nodding upwards.

Cas smiled grimly. “You heard what my brother said. I don't think I would receive a warm welcome at this point.” He looked over at Uriel's inert form and sighed. “As of today, I think I am officially in rebellion.”

Dean broke into a smile. “So you hanging around for while? You could be useful. We still have all those walkers shuffling around to deal with. And we know you're good in a fight.”

Castiel peered at Dean. “You realize that although I have regained my powers, I will be unable to use them, as that will lead the angels to me, as it led Uriel here.”

Dean grinned and handed back the gun. Castiel hefted it, his face edging into a smile.

“That ain’t the way you hold a gun,” Daryl grumbled, as he and Merle had just shown up with arms full of dry branches.

“Give him a break, baby bro. He’s just an angel,” Merle told him.

“So, Cas, did you ever remember what you came down here to tell me?”

Castiel stared at Dean for an uncomfortably long time. “You have a destiny, Dean Winchester.”

“Yeah, okay, so what was it exactly?”

Castiel turned pink. Was he blushing? “I … don’t exactly recall.”

Dean threw his head back and hooted with laughter. “Great! My guardian angel is Mr. Short Term Memory.”

“In my defense, I’ve been through a lot today,” Cas sulked, which caused Dean to put an arm around his shoulders.

“So I thought I was fighting the undead, but instead I’m fighting demons?” Rick heaved a great sigh as he and Sam deposited more kindling into the pit. He shook his head.

“Yeah,” said Sam, his face cracking into a grin. “Pretty typical day. For us.”

“Let’s get this put to bed, and we can get to the Roadhouse,” Dean told them. “I need a fucking beer.”

“Actually, I shouldn’t do this, but before I left….” Rick dug into his coat and brought out a bottle.

“The good Scotch!” laughed Dean. “Rick, you’re awesome.” Rick unscrewed the cap and took a swig, and then passed the bottle around as everyone gathered around the bonfire.

“So, this is really a typical day for you folks?” Rick asked.

“Oh yeah,” Dean told him. “Warming your ass over a big pit of burning undead. Sure.”

“Us too,” Merle volunteered.

“Except sometimes we also roast marshmallows,” said Sam. 

Rick stared at Sam. For a long time, nobody spoke. “What, really?”

Dean threw his head back and roared with laughter.

Rick threw up his hands. “All right. All right. You got me.”

Sam and Dean shared a glance. “Though it wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Dean volunteered.

“Undead s’mores,” said Sam. Both brothers grinned.

“Gimme back my fucking bottle,” said Rick, snatching back the Scotch.

And for a while they stood, drinking good Scotch and warming their hands over the burning bones of the undead.


End file.
